MOM 


78  V 


A    FOREST  RANGER 


THE  FOREST  RANGER 

AND    OTHER   VERSE 

COLLECTED  &  EDITED  BY 

JOHN  D.  GUTHRIE 

Captain,  Engineers,  U.  5".  Reserve; 

formerly  Forest  Supervisor  (on  furlough), 

U.  S.  Forest  Service 


BOSTON 

RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY  JOHN  D.  GUTHBIS 
All  Rights  Reserved 


.  >.    (  U%£"\'UL    ^1-A-J 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 
The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


DEDICATED  TO 

G.  P. 

A  FIGHTER  FOR  THE  CAUSE 
OF 

CONSERVATION 


39R917 


THE  MEN  WHO  WROTE  THE  VERSES 

MILFORD,  Pike  Co.,  Pa., 

August  7,  1917- 
Mr.  Jno.  D.  Guthrie,  Flagstaff,  Ariz. 

DEAR  GUTHRIE:  I  have  read  every  word  of 
your  collection  of  verses  of  the  Forest  Service,  all 
of  it  with  keen  interest,  much  of  it  with  deep  sym 
pathy  and  real  delight.  You  have  put  me,  with 
every  other  Forest  Service  man,  deeply  in  your  debt. 
Nothing  in  years  has  so  brought  back  to  me  the 
spirit  of  the  old  days,  and  nothing  has  confirmed  in 
me  so  clearly  the  belief  —  long  held  —  that  the 
Service  now  is  the  same  as  it  was  when  I  knew  it  by 
daily  contact. 

For  half  a  generation  I  have  been  convinced  that 
no  body  of  men  in  our  Government  service,  and  that 
means  in  any  Government  service  in  the  world,  has 
so  high  a  standard  of  efficiency  and  such  fine  and 
generous  devotion  to  duty  as  the  United  States  For 
est  Service,  or  is  rendering  in  proportion  to  its  num 
bers  so  extensive  and  valuable  public  service. 

Our  people  generally  know  that  the  Forest  Service 
is  clean  and  able,  and  can  be  trusted,  but  they  have 
no  conception  of  what  it  has  passed  through  to  reach 
its  present  well-earned  place.  Naturally,  they  do 
not  realize  the  difficulties  and  responsibilities  of  the 
individual  forest  officer  in  his  daily  work.  But  the 
men  who  wrote  these  verses  know,  and  I  know  too. 
You  have  made  a  real  contribution  to  the  safety  and 
success  of  Forestry  in  America  by  publishing  this 
book,  for  you  have  given  the  general  reader  a  chance 
to  understand  something  of  what  the  work  actually 
5 


The  Men  Wh<*  Wrote  the  Verses 

means  to  the  men  who  are  doing  it  on  the  National 
Forests. 

American  Foresters  generally,  and  the  men  of  the 
Service  in  particular,  have  always  been  willing  to 
tackle  any  job,  to  make  any  personal  sacrifice  for 
the  good  of  the  work,  and  they  have  always  had  the 
forester's  long  look  ahead.  They  have  seen  the 
great  end  from  the  small  beginning,  and  have  done 
cheerfully  the  hardest  kind  of  hard  work,  have  exer 
cised  the  most  trying  patience,  have  hung  on  with 
the  grimmest  determination,  often  for  a  distant  re 
sult,  the  full  flower  of  which  they  can  not  hope  to 
live  to  see. 

^  You  yourself  and  many  of  the  other  men  of  the 
Forest  Service  are  going  into  the  War.  Thereby 
you  will  change  your  uniform  but  not  the  spirit  of 
your  work.  You  were  giving  your  lives  to  the  Na 
tion  before,  and  you  are  doing  the  same  thing  now. 
I  wish  it  could  be  my  good  fortune  to  be  with  you 
now  as  I  was  in  the  times  gone  by.  Good  luck  go 
with  you. 

I  was  proud  of  the  men  of  the  Service  when  I  be 
longed  to  it,  and  I  am  as  proud  of  them  today. 
There  is  no  finer  body  of  men  alive.  C.  C.  Hall  ex 
presses  my  sentiments  exactly  in  the  verses  "  To  My 
Old  Comrades,"  when  he  says: 

"  They  say  that  Heaven  is  a  beautiful  place 
With  rest,  sweet  songs,  peace  and  joys 
But  the  thing  that  would  suit  me  down  to  the  ground 
Is-— charge  of  God's  Forests,  and  for  Rangers  —  these 
boys." 

Sincerely  yours, 

GlFFORD   PlNCHOT. 
6 


CONTENTS 

THE  FOREST  RANGER 19 

Fred  G.  Plummer 
THE  GOVERNMENT'S  HANDY  MAN    .     .     .21 

Arthur  Chapman 
THE  CALL 22 

Scott  Leavitt 
THE  EASTERNER 24 

Jack  Welch 
THE  FOOL  AND  OUR  FOREST  DOLLARS    .     .     26 

E.  T.  Allen 
AN  OFFICE  DETAIL :' "'.     ,     27 

James  H.  Sizer 

I'VE  BEEN  WORKING  ON  THE  SURVEY    .     .     29 
WHEN  THE  RANGER'S  FEET  GET  COLD  .     .     30 

A.  R.  Ivey 
THE  FOREST  CLERK .     .     32 

Rita   A.  Castle 
THE  FOREST  ASSISTANT'S  COMPROMISE    .     .     34 

R.  F.  Feagans 
THE  FLORIDA  RANGER       .     .     .     ...     36 

/.  F.  Eldredge 
THE  FIRE  BUG  AND  THE  EAST  WIND  37 

E.  T.  Allen 

THE  RANGER '""."".     39 

7 


Contents 


PAGE 
FOREST  FIRES 41 

J.  D.  G. 
PROMOTION 43 

James  H.  Sizer 

THE  FORESTRY  STUDENT 44 

THE  MYSTERY -»     .     •     45 

Aldo  Leopold 

A  RANGER  TO  His  BROTHER  AT  THE  U  .     .     47 
James  H.  Banner 

THE  GILA  RANGER'S  SONG 49 

Jack  Case 
THE  NIGHT  TRAIL       . 50 

Scott  Leavitt 

ONLY  A  LITTLE  TREE-BUTTON     .     .     .     .     52 
Constance   Mainwaring 

RESOLUTIONS  OF  A  RANGER 53 

Aldo  Leopold 

A  RANGER'S  DAY    . 55 

SKIDOO  SKIS .56 

James  H.  Sizer 

A  RANGER'S  WORKING  PLAN 57 

/.  D.  G. 
THE  FORESTER'S  LAMENT 58 

R.  W.  Ayres 

A  RANGER'S  JOYS 60 

A.  R.  Ivey 
THE  FOREST  FIRE  FIGHTERS 62 

Arthur  Chapman 

THE  RANGER  ON  THE  TAHOE 63 

A.  R.  Ivey 
8 


Contents 


PAGE 

THE  CRY  OF  THE  SURVEY  CREW  .     .    ..„,    ..     65 
SPARE  TIME 66 

Aldo  Leopold 
THE  RANGER'S  LIFE 68 

Arthur  Chapman 
A  BUG-LAND  LULLABY 69 

H.  R.  Mullen 
THE  HOBO  RANGER 71 

Norman  K.  Olmstead 
SUN  RIVER  PASS 73 

Scott  Leavitt 
A  RANGER'S  NEW  YEAR'S  RESOLUTIONS  .     .     76 

H.  R.  Batter  ton 
CIRCULAR  ONE-FOUR-NINE-SEVEN     ...     78 

William  E.  Harris 
THE  TOURIST  AND  THE  RANGER       ...     80 

Aldo  Leopold 
THE  HEGIRA 82 

Will  C.  Barnes 
A  FOREST  INSPECTION  HYMN  .     .     .     -,.  >,    84 

THIS  JOB      .     .  A.;r.ai'~W 86 

WIRELESS  BILL 87 

James  H.  Sizer 
THE  BUSY  RANGER      .......     91 

/.  D.  G. 

QUITTING  TIME •     93 

A  RANGER'S  THANKSGIVING  HYMN  ...     94 
THE  FIRE  FOOL ^  •  ;^>^*v  95 

A.  G.  Jackson 
9 


Contents 


PAGE 
THE  FOREST  LOAFER 96 

Fred  G.  Plummer 
RECONNAISSANCE 98 

W.  P.  Lawson 
ON  CHANGING  THE  NAME  OF  HELLGATE    .  100 

P.  S.  Love  joy 
THE  NEW  FOREST  ASSISTANT 101 

Jack  Welch 

CERCOCARPUS 103 

Gordon  T.  Backus 

THE  LITTLE  STILL 104 

Douglas  Rodman 

BILTMORE  FOREST  SCHOOL 105 

James  H.  Sizer 

THE  RANGER  MEETING 106 

A.  R.  Ivey 

GRIEF 108 

Mary  B.  Sizer 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  OHMLETTE      ....  109 
Gordon  T.  Backus 

IF in 

Harris  A.  Reynolds 

FOREST  RANGER'S  SONG 112 

W.  P.  Lawson 
THE  PRODIGAL 114 

Jack  Welch 
THE  BUSY  SEASON 116 

Aldo  Leopold 
10 


Contents 


PAGE 
WHEN  WINTER  COMES  AROUND  .     .     .,   ,.  117 

A.  R.  Ivey 
RECREATION ...   119 

James  H.  Sizer 
To  MY  OLD  COMRADES     .     ,     .     .     ,     .   122 

C.  C.  Hall 

A  PIPE  DREAM  .  .  >•'  .  *  .t  .  .  y  124 
SPRING  HAS  COMB  .  .  .  .  '  !  ii7'Vv'V  125 
THE  DIARY  AND  THE  REFLECTION  .  ..  ;  127 

/.  A.    Lars  en 
ON  THE  GUNNISON I2Q 

H.  L.  Thackwell 
LEAP  YEAR  AT  A  RANGER  STATION    .  ,  41  „  131 

/.  F.  Forsythe 
REMEMBER  THE  ALAMO     .     .     .     .    ^     ,   132 

C.  C.  Hall 
THE  HOOK 4     ,     !j  j^^ 

/.  F.  Eldredge 
THE  SPASM  FROM  THE  SHASTA    .     .     .     .134 

A  QUIVER  FROM  THE  TAHOE 136 

A  MUSING  FROM  THE  ANGELES  .  H.,. ,. ..,,  .  138 
THE  BRANDING  OF  THE  FORESTS  .  !fti  1 '+  .  140 

Witt  C.  Barnes 

RANGER  SONG  FOR  THE  NORTH  SIERRA  RE 
SERVE    I43 

Charles  H.  Shinn 
THE  FIRE  GUARD  ON  PATROL  .  i^e 

J.D.G. 
ECONOMY i^ 

Charles  H.  Jennings 
II 


Contents 


PAGE 

FIRES 149 

Bristow  Adams 

THE  APACHE  RECESSIONAL     .     .     "" '"  .     .   152 
J.  D.  G. 

A  ROLLING  STONE 153 

Harry  Lawson 

KLAMATH  BUG  SONG    .  155 

S.  W.  Allen 

RECEIPT  FOR  A  RANGER 157 

/.  B.  Cammann 

FOUR  CENTS  TO  THE  LICK 158 

P.  S.  Love  joy 

His  WISDOM      . 160 

Howard  C.  Kegley 

PLANTING  RHYMES       . .;'*V5'  *:'*v'  tg^ix-  .  161 
THE  FELLOW  THAT  DROPT  THE  MATCH  .     .162 

THE  FOREST  PLEADERS       .      .      .     1'    .     .  163 
E.  T.  Allen 

PROSPECTIN' '.'"'.     .165 

/.  R.  Simmons 
EXTRACT  FROM  AN  OLD-TIME  DIARY  OF  AN 

OLD-TIME  FOREST  RANGER 166 

James  H.  Sizer 

A  FOREST  SYMPOSIUM 168 

The  Prelude 168 

The  Suping  Supervisor 168 

The  Desking  Districter 170 

The  Rangy  Ranger 171 

The  Woman  Side 172 

The  Last  Word 174 

12 


EDITOR'S  NOTE 

The  verses  in  this  volume  have  been  in  process  of 
collection  by  the  writer  during  the  past  fifteen  years. 
Most  of  them  appeared  originally  in  the  pages  of 
forest  news  letters  issued  on  the  different  National 
Forests.  Poetical  or  literary  merit  is  claimed  only 
for  a  few,  but  the  claim  is  made  that  they  reflect  the 
daily  life  and  work  of  the  Forest  Ranger  on  the 
National  Forests  of  the  West.  Some  are  frankly 
parodies;  some  are  merely  rhymes  and  jingles;  some 
few  are  songs,  sung  by  Rangers  at  their  occasional 
meetings  or  perhaps  hummed  around  a  lonely  camp 
fire  by  the  side  of  some  Forest  trail,  in  the  dense  fir 
timber  of  the  Pacific  Northwest  or  the  open  pine 
forest  of  Florida. 

The  labor  of  collecting  and  editing  has  been  one 
entirely  of  pleasure,  and  the  little  book  is  sent  out 
with  no  literary  aspirations  whatever  but  only  with 
the  desire  to  bring  together  and  put  on  record  these 
expressions  of  the  spirit  of  the  men  who  have  heard 
the  call  of  the  forest  and  of  distant  places,  and  in 
the  hope  that  they  may  bring  back  pleasant  memories 
of  many  a  forest  camp  or  meeting.  Perhaps  they 
may  be  the  forerunner  of  a  collection  of  folk  songs 
of  American  foresters  and  forest  workers. 

Occasionally  the  editor  has  taken  the  liberty  of 
13 


Editor's  Note 


making  minor  changes  from  the  originals ;  he  has  en 
deavored  always  to  retain  the  spirit  back  of  the 
words.  The  authors  of  many  of  the  verses  were 
not  known  and  thus  previous  permission  to  include 
these  could  not  be  obtained.  To  these  unknown 
authors,  perhaps  Rangers  in  some  far  away  moun 
tain  cabin,  the  writer  extends  his  thanks.  He  would 
appreciate  being  informed  of  the  authorship  of  those 
verses  which  appear  as  anonymous. 

To  the  many  who  have  responded  so  splendidly 
to  the  request  for  copies  of  verses  contained  in  the 
issue  of  the  Forest  Quarterly  especial  thanks  are 
extended.  The  volume  here  presented  includes  less 
than  one-half  of  the  total  number  collected  and  only 
the  ones  believed  by  the  writer  )to  reflect  most  truly 
the  Forest  Ranger's  life  and  work  have  been  in 
cluded;  many  that  were  received  were  of  too  per 
sonal  a  nature  or  possessed  a  superabundance  of  local 
color  to  be  of  general  interest  to  foresters  and  Forest 
officers. 

Especial  thanks  are  due  to  the  following  indi 
viduals  and  publications  for  permission  to  include 
certain  of  the  verses: 

Mr.  Arthur  Chapman,  the  Western  poet,  for 
"The  Government's  Handy  Man,"  "The  Forest 
Fire  Fighters,"  and  "  The  Ranger's  Life,"  origin 
ally  appearing  in  the  columns  of  the  Denver  Repub 
lican;  Mr.  E.  T.  Allen,  for  "  The  Fool  and  Our 
Forest  Dollars,"  "The  Fire  Bug  and  the  East 
Wind,"  and  "The  Forest  Pleaders";  the  Uni 
versity  of  California  Journal  of  Agriculture,  for 
"The  Ranger";  The  Independent,  for  "Forest 


Editors  Note 


Ranger's  Song,"  by  W.  P.  Lawson,  originally  ap 
pearing  in  Harpers  Weekly;  American  Forestry  for 
"  The  Hegira,"  "  The  Branding  of  the  Forests," 
"  If,"  "  The  Fire  Fool,"  "  The  New  Forest  Assist 
ant,"  "  The  Prodigal,"  "  The  Easterner,"  "  Fires," 
"  The  Fire  Guard  on  Patrol,"  "  Receipt  for  a  Ran 
ger,"  and  "  His  Wisdom." 

JOHN  D.  GUTHRIE. 
Flagstaff,  Arizona, 
June  15, 


THE  FOREST  RANGER 


THE  FOREST  RANGER 

The  Forest  Ranger's  mottoes  stand, 

"  Create,  protect,  restore," 
To  help  home  builders  with  the  land 
And  bring  content  on  every  hand, 

Now  and  forevermore. 

Seedtime  and  harvest  he  computes, 

And  from  her  plenteous  store 
Summons  Dame  Nature's  attributes 
To  make  two  saplings  shoot  their  shoots 
Where  one  shot  heretofore. 

He  stops  the  fires  that  send  their  floods 

Which  tears  the  valley  floor, 
And  ruin  the  farmer's  corn  and  spuds, 
So  that  two  cows  may  chew  their  cuds, 
Where  one  could  heretofore. 

Where  only  sage  and  cacti  grew, 

With  ditch  and  reservoir, 
Fed  from  the  mount's  protected  snow, 
He  sees  two  drops  of  water  flow, 

Where  one  flew  heretofore. 

And  as  the  fruit  of  his  master  hand 
And  knowledge  of  forest  lore, 

Bearing  the  stockman's  glaring  brand, 

We  see  a  team  of  horses  stand 
Where  one  stood  heretofore. 
19 


The  Forest  Ranger 


So  here's  to  the  Ranger's  fireside; 

May  his  tribe  increase  galore, 
And  may  ten  forest  rangers  ride 
On  road,  on  trail  or  steep  divide, 

Where  one  rode  heretofore. 

—  Fred  G.  Plummer 


20 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  GOVERNMENT'S  HANDY  MAN 

Your  Uncle  Sam  he  says  to  me,  "  I  want  a  man  to 

ride, 
To  pack  a  horse,  and  shoot  a  few,  and  sleep  out 

doors  besides.;  " 
So  I  signed  with  him  as  a  ranger  bold,  to  ride  the 

forests  free, 

But  lord  !  you  ought  to  see  the  stunts  your  Uncle 
Sam  gave  me  ! 

It's  law  in  the  morning,  science  at  night, 
Study  all  day,  and  figger  and  write  ; 

He  gets  high-browed  work  on  a  high-browed  plan, 
Does  the  Government's  handy  man. 


I've  broke  my  jaw  on  science  names  for  every  tree 

and  bark; 
I've  got  to  know  fine  points  in  law,  jest  like  a 

Blackstone  shark  ; 
I've  got  to  pick  out  min'ral  land,  same  as  a  wise 

M.  E.; 

And  this  here   ranger  job   ain't  jest  what  it's 
cracked  up  to  be. 

It's  readin'  the  Manual  early  and  late, 

Rules  by  the  hundred  —  get  'em  all  straight. 
He'd  ruther  punch  cows,  but  he  does  what  he  can, 
Does  the  Government's  handy  man. 

—  Arthur  Chapman 
21 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  CALL 

And  have  you  heard  the  Call  where  world-old 
silence  broods  — 

And  have  you  heard  the  Voice  that  speaks  from  soli 
tudes  ? 

We  who  alone  are  wont  to  ride 
Among  the  pines  at  eventide, 
And  climb  to  where  some  jutting  crest 
Gigantic  looks  toward  the  west, 
There  at  the  sunset  hour  to  seek 
O'er  wide-flung  realms  of  crag  and  peak 
And  canyons,  black  with  mystery  — 
Gold  islands  in  a  shadow  sea 
Where  silent  tides  of  purple  shade 
Engulf  red  shores  that  glow  and  fade  — 
Ah,  we  have  heard  the  Voice  that  calls, 

That  magic  Voice  which  has  no  sound : 
From  out  the  dusking  night  it  falls, 
From  canyon's  depth  and  granite  walls, 
And  awre  has  compassed  us  around. 

And  lone  the  trails  we  ride  that  run 
Where  canyon  shades  shut  out  the  sun: 
Rock-gated  is  the  op'ning  pass 
Whence  bursts  the  mountain's  awesome  mass, 
Where,  far  above  the  proudest  height, 
A  searching  eagle  hangs  in  flight 
And,  ever  soaring,  wheeling,  throws 
22 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  circling  shadow  on  the  snows: 
And  darkling  is  the  forest  shade 
When  camp  by  dusky  stream  is  made  — 
Ah,  then  the  hobbles'  clank  we  hear, 

When  packs  are  off,  and  saddles  thrown, 
And,  breathing  round  the  campfire's  cheer, 
Again  the  silent  Voice  draws  near  — 
The  Mountains,  calling  to  their  own ! 

And  we  have  gone  where  birches  stand 

Like  white-robed  Naiads,  hand  in  hand, 

Round  hidden  lakes  where,  trembling,  lies 

The  Secret  of  the  Centuries, 

And  seems  to  wait  but  time  and  chance 

To  burst  in  magic  utterance: 

The  lake  gives  back  the  fading  sky: 

Long  shadows  on  the  waters  lie : 

The  pine  crests  last  with  gold  are  kissed : 

The  air  is  dark'ning  amethyst  — 

Ah,  now  again  from  shore  and  lake 
The  magic,  yearning  Call  is  heard : 

Within  our  depths  we  feel  it  make 

Such  echoes  as  in  souls  awake 

That  understand,  and  need  no  word. 

And  you  have  heard  the  Call  where  world-old  si 
lence  broods  — 

And  you  have  heard  the  Voice  that  speaks  from  soli 
tudes. 

—  Scott  Leavitt 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  EASTERNER 

I  was  a  ranger  on  the  Bow  * 

In  the  Service's  early  days, 
With  a  scalin'  stick,  and  an  army  Colt, 

And  a  nerve  you  couldn't  feaze; 
A  veteran  of  the  cattle-war 

And  the  Leadville  riot  row, 
With  a  keen  contempt  for  the  Easterner, 

The  pin-head,  town-bred  Easterner, 
Who  called  a  steer  a  "  ceow." 

I  knew  the  kinks  of  a  ranger's  job 

From  A  to  the  letter  Z, 
Fire  patrol  in  the  Snowy  Range 

To  side  camp  cookery. 
Slingin'  my  tarp  when  the  sun  went  down 

In  the  Rockies'  fenceless  campin'  ground; 
None  of  the  Eastern  college  kids 

Could  show  a  thing  to  me. 

His  tables  of  yield  and  growth  per  cent 

Would  make  a  cayuse  smile ; 
To  see  him  throwin'  the  diamond  hitch 

Would  pay  you  to  hike  a  mile. 
He  came  with  a  thin-skinned  silken  tent, 

His  grammar  was  certainly  excellent; 
But  grammar  don't  count  for  a  copper  cent 

When  savy  and  sand's  at  trial. 

1  Medicine  Bow,  National  Forett. 
24 


The  Forest  Ranger 


So  first  we  tormented  him,  then  ignored, 

I  guess  his  life  was  Hell; 
The  pace  we  led  the  assistant  man 

Wouldn't  be  good  to  tell. 
But  as  the  years  are  speedin'  on 

And  the  seasons  come  and  go, 
We're  comin'  to  see  that  the  Easterner, 

The  quick-brained,  school-trained  Eastern^, 
Is  a  pretty  good  man  to  know. 

We've  camped  and  smoked  and  rode  and  joked 

And  run  out  lines  together, 
When  the  misty  mountains  loomed  up  cold 

In  the  Bow's  October  weather. 
We  fought  the  fires  of  Nineteen  ten 

(Fought  and  ran,  and  fought  again, 
Sectional  lines  were  forgotten  then) 

That  made  us  pards  forever. 

Now  we  feel  he's  one  of  us, 

And  forget  his  Eastern  birth, 
We  find  he  knows  some  things  we  don\ 

About  this  planet  Earth. 
So  we  listen  while  he  tells  us, 

And  he  listens  in  return; 
For  each  can  teach  the  other 

Some  useful  things  to  learn. 

—  Jack  Welch 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FOOL  AND  OUR  FOREST  DOLLARS 

Goodby  to  the  fool  with  the  empty  gun ; 
Forgotten  his  bid  for  fame. 
Though  he  kills  his  friend,  it  only  counts  one, 
And  that,  nowadays,  is  tame. 

The  fool  who  playfully  rocks  the  boat 
Is  on  the  front  page  no  more. 
He  may  rank  high  with  the  fools  afloat 
But  his  glory  has  gone  ashore. 

There's  the  fool  with  women,  the  fool  with  wine, 
And  the  fool  who  games  with  strangers, 
And  the  joy-ride  fool  (he  does  well  in  his  line 
By  combining  these  ancient  dangers). 

But  they're  all  still  down  in  the  primer  class, 
Mere  novices  taking  a  flyer, 
Compared  with  the  prize-taking  criminal  ass, 
The  fool  in  the  woods  with  fire. 

A  few  hearts  break  for  the  deeds  they've  done 
In  their  pitiful  amateur  way, 
But  fire  slays  dozens  where  they  slay  one 
And  scourges  a  State  in  a  day. 

For  the  ruined  home  and  the  smokeless  stack 
And  the  worker  unemployed 
Know  a  hundred  years  shall  never  bring  back 
The  things  that  his  match  destroyed. 

—  E.  T.  Allen 
26 


The  Forest  Ranger 


AN  OFFICE  DETAIL 

I  got  a  little  detail 
To  the  Supervisor's  shack, 
And  I  hadn't  lit  in  Springer, 
Till  I  wished  that  I  was  back 
On  the  far  end  of  my  district, 
Counting  stock  or  building  trail, 
For  to  work  inside  an  Office 
Is  like  doing  time  in  jail. 

This  bending  o'er  a  table, 

And  a  writing  all  the  day, 

Is  a-making  me  hump-shouldered, 

And  my  hair  is  turning  gray. 

It  shore  will  be  my  finish 

If  they  don't  relieve  me  soon, 

For  my  bewhiskered,  sunburnt  features 

Is  gettin'  paler  than  the  moon. 

Some  may  rant  and  cuss  a  little, 
And  feel  they've  got  a  snob 
Cause  they  haven't  been  promoted 
To  a  Supervisor's  job; 
But  I'd  rather  face  the  devil, 
Or  a  bald-faced  grizzly  bear, 
Than  this  everlasting  torment 
In  a  Super's  swivel  chair. 


The  Forest  Ranger 


I  thought  that  I  had  troubles 
When  on  my  district  all  alone, 
But  I've  found  that  serious  trouble 
Was  a  thing  I'd  never  known. 
When  I  git  back  on  my  district, 
You  can  bet  your  life  I'll  stay, 
And  be  thankful  to  my  Maker 
I  can  draw  a  ranger's  pay. 

—  James  H.  Sizer 


The  Forest  Ranger 


I'VE  BEEN  WORKING  ON  THE  SURVEY 

I've  been  working  on  the  survey,  all  the  live-long 

day, 
I've  been  working  on  the  survey,  just  to  pass  the 

time  away. 
Don't  you  hear  the  Cook  a-calling,  rise  up  so  early 

in  the  morn, 
Don't  you  hear  the  Boss  a-shouting  "  Pull  your 

trousers  on !  " 

Sing  me  a  song  of  the  Survey, 
Pull  that  chain  along, 
Forester  ain't  half  so  happy 
As  when  he's  singing  a  song. 
Stem-analysis  crew  for  the  loafers, 
The  Height-crew  for  a  snap, 
But  if  you  want  the  best  of  fellows, 
The  Survey's  the  best  on  the  map. 

Lake  Ambajejus,  Me.,  1903. 


29 


The  Forest  Ranger 


WHEN  THE  RANGER'S  FEET  GET  COLD 

In  the  spring  the  ranger's  feet  begin  to  tingle  and 
get  warm, 

For  the  "  wanderlust "  is  on  him,  and  he  feels  the 
mountain  charm. 

The  birds  are  singing  gaily,  and  the  hills  are  get 
ting  green, 

And  he  knows  the  trout  are  leaping  in  every  moun 
tain  stream. 

The  days  are  getting  longer;  the  flowers  are  all  in 
bloom ; 

So  what's  the  use  of  waiting  in  some  stuffy  Ranger 
room? 

He  gently  sounds  the  "  Boss  "  on  the  subject  near 
his  heart. 

Has  he  "  Heard  how  long  before  Brown's  sawmill 
's  going  to  start  ?  " 

He  talks  about  the  brush  that  he  was  going  to  burn 

last  Fall, 
And  wonders  how  his  fences  are,  and  if  they're 

down  at  all, 
And  how  his  cabin  stood  the  snow,  and  if  it  needs 

repair, 
And  about  the  trail  he'd  like  to  "  brush  "  if  he  were 

only  there. 

He  overhauls  his  outfit  half  a  dozen  times  a  day, 
Till  the  "  Boss  "  takes  pity  on  him  and  sends  him 

on  his  way, 
For  the  "  wanderlust "  is  on  him,  and  he  feels  the 

mountain  charm, 
And  it's  hard  to  hold  a  ranger  when  his  feet  get 

warm. 


The  Forest  Ranger 


The  Summer  passes  quickly  —  the  ranger  's  on  the 

go, 
He  dreads  the  thought  of  winter  when  he'll  have 

to  move  below. 

He  gets  his  share  of  pleasure,  as  well  as  plenty  work, 
For  a  ranger's  jobs  are  many,  and  he's  seldom  known 

to  shirk. 
He  feels  at  home  in  cattle  camps;  the  tourists  are 

his  friends, 
"  And  I  don't  care  a  rap,"  he  says,  "  if  summer 

never  ends !  " 
For  his  feet  are  warm  and  tingling ;  there's  music  in 

the  air, 
His  home  is  where  he  hangs  his  hat,  and  he  doesn't 

have  a  care. 


But  along  about  November  there  comes  a  sudden 

change, 
The  sheep  are  moving  southward;  the  cattle  leave 

the  range. 

And  the  ranger  feels  a  longing,  and  his  thoughts  be 
gin  to  roam, 
And  he  dreams  about  the  office,  and  the  dear  ones  all 

at  home, 
His  mind  is  busy  scheming  how  he's  going  to  get 

"  called  in." 
The  "  Boss  "  has  sure  forgot  him,  and  he  thinks  it 

is  a  sin. 
The  "  wanderlust  "  has  left  him,  and  he  doesn't  feel 

so  bold. 
For  he's  like  all  other  mortals  when  his  feet  get  cold. 

—  A.  R.  Ivey 
31 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FOREST  CLERK 

Who  could  relate  the  kinds  of  work 
That  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  Forest  Clerk? 
Record  the  things  that  she  must  do 
Before  she  counts  her  day's  work  through? 

She  opens  the  letters  and  reads  the  mail 

From  a  grazer's  complaint  to  a  timber  sale : 

She  takes  dictation  as  a  matter  of  course 

From  the  janitor  up  to  the  head  of  the  force: 

She  bears  the  brunt  of  the  office  ire 

And  wears  a  smile  as  she  pokes  the  fire: 

Till  frowns  disappear  and  hearts  grow  strong: 

And  not  the  least  of  her  many  trials 

Is  keeping  in  mind  all  things  in  the  files, 

Which  files  she  arranges  day  after  day 

For  those  who  take  out  but  don't  put  away. 

Accounts  and  disbursements  must  be  kept  well  in 

hand, 

As  for  errors  in  that  line  no  D.  F.  will  stand  ; 
And  so  the  poor  Clerk  must  worry  her  brains, 
And  get  little  thanks  for  her  efforts  and  pains : 
She  makes  out  reports  and  orders  supplies 
For  the  force  in  the  office  and  Ranger  likewise : 
She  straightens  out  claims  and  helps  on  the  maps, 
Reconnaissance,  grazing,  or  boundaries,  perhaps. 
She  answers  the  telephone  forty  times  daily, 
Welcomes  all  visitors  and  talks  to  them  gaily, 
E'en  though  on  her  desk  the  work  stands  knee  deep, 
32 


The  Forest  Ranger 


And  all  must  be  finished  before  she  can  sleep. 

The  first  of  the  year  she  turns  her  attention 

To  Accountability  —  too  awful  to  mention ! 

Then  follow  the  things  which  before  I  have  quoted 

Though  dozens  of  things  I  haven't  yet  noted, 

Such  as  corrals  and  fences  and  bridges  and  trails, 

Telephone  lines  and  great  timber  sales: 

Fire  prevention  for  tree  preservation 

To  help  Uncle  Sam  promote  Conservation. 

She  tends  all  these  duties  in  a  businesslike  way; 
So  when  all's  said  and  done  no  critic  can  say 
She  doesn't  deserve,  from  the  hands  of  the  Nation, 
The  small  sum  she  gets  as  due  compensation. 

—~Rita  A.  Castle 


33 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FOREST  ASSISTANT'S 
COMPROMISE 

He  longed  to  be  a  Ranger 

And  through  the  Forest  ride, 
A  Stetson  on  his  noble  brow 

Six-shooter  by  his  side  — 
And  now  he's  wearing  hip-boots 

Down  in  Florida! 

He  had  read  "  The  Ranger's  Triumph," 

All  full  of  quirks  and  thrills, 
He  had  heard  of  "  Whiskey-High-Ball  Bill  " 

And  those  six  men  he  kills  — 
And  now  he's  picking  chiggers 

On  the  Ozark! 

He  knew  some  Forests  by  their  name, 

The  Tusayan  and  Nebo, 
He  swore  that  he  would  win  to  fame 

Surpassing  that  of  Pinchot  — 
And  now  he's  counting  sheep 

Down  on  the  Prescott! 

He  dreamed  of  fighting  raging  fires, 
Flames  leaped  from  tree  to  tree, 

The  giant  forests  gleamed  and  fell 
As  he  could  plainly  see  — 

And  now  he's  stationed 
In  Pinyon,  Nevada! 
34 


The  Forest  Ranger 


He  went  to  school  for  many  a  year, 
At  Penn  State  or  dear  old  Yale, 

He  knew  that  he  could  'minister 
A  ten  million  dollar  sale  — 

But  now  he's  counting  seedlings 
On  the  Wasatch ! 

He  thought  that  in  the  years  to  come 

How  he  would  win  a  wife, 
A  glorious,  dazzling,  wondrous  maid, 

A  pal  to  him  through  life  — 
And  her  maiden  name  was, 

Lolita  Salazar! 

—  R.  F.  Feagans 


35 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FLORIDA  RANGER 

Mighty  is  he  who  can  sail  the  sea 
And  ride  a  cayuse  too, 
Run  a  line  and  corners  find, 
And  boss  a  timber  crew. 

He  must  know  how  engines  go, 
And  how  to  steer  at  night, 
How  to  measure  logs  and  navigate  fogs, 
How  to  quell  a  nigger  fight. 

He's  got  to  know  where  the  seedlings  grow, 
Where  the  oysters  bask  in  bed, 
Where  the  crackerjack  eats  the  razor  back, 
And  what  the  wild  waves  said. 

To  keep  his  name  on  Duffy's *  list, 
And  draw  the  blue  lined  envelope, 
He's  got  to  show  the  tattooed  wrist, 
As  well  as  throw  the  cattle  rope. 

—  I.F.Eldredffe 

1  Formerly  district  fiscal  agent  in  the  Southwestern  Dis 
trict. 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FIRE  BUG  AND  THE  EAST  WIND 

"  No,  I'll  not  burn  my  slash  this  spring," 

The  moss-back  logger  said, 
"  I'll  trust  to  God  and  luck  again; 

Expense  is  what  I  dread." 

"  It's  time  to  hit  the  trail  again," 

The  careless  camper  said, — 
And  left  his  little  fire  ablaze 

Within  its  leafy  bed. 

"I'll  light  another  cigarette," 

The  idle  loafer  said, 
And  chucked  his  old  snipe  in  the  brush, 

One  end  still  glowing  red. 

"  Let's  punch  the  screen  out  of  the  stack," 

The  donkey  fireman  said, 
And  so  he  did,  and  all  the  sparks 

Sailed  blithely  overhead. 

"  Come  on,  we'll  dump  our  ashes  now," 

The  railroad  trainmen  said, 
The  train  soon  fanned  them  far  and  wide 

As  on  its  way  it  sped. 

"  Good  time  to  fire  my  slashing  now," 

The  thrifty  rancher  said, 
And  touched  it  off  without  a  thought 

Of  how  far  it  might  spread. 
37 


The  Forest  Ranger 


"  I  think  I'll  blow  an  hour  or  two," 

The  restless  East  wind  said, 
Then  liked  it  so  he  changed  his  mind 

And  blew  a  week  instead. 

"  Millions  in  lives  and  timber  lost," 

The  newspapers  next  said. 
What  made  those  fires  all  start  at  once, 

We  wondered  as  we  read. 

"  It  wasn't  us,  it  was  that  wind," 

The  fools  in  chorus  said. 
So  they're  alive  and  loose  this  year, 

We  hope  the  wind  is  dead. 

—  E.  T.Allen 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  RANGER 

(The  following  verses  were  found  in  a  ranger  station  on 
the  El  Dorado  National  Forest.) 

The  season's  over,  and  they  come  down 

From  the  ranger  stations  to  the  nearest  town, 

Wild  and  woolly  and  tired  and  lame 

From  playing  that  "  next-to-nature  "  game. 

These  are  the  men  the  nation  must  pay 

For  "  doing  nothing  " —  the  town  folks  say. 

But  facts  are  different,  I'm  here  to  tell 

That  some  of  their  trails  run  right  through  —  well 

Woods  and  mountains  and  deserts  and  brush. 

They  are  always  going  and  always  rush, 

They  camp  at  some  mountain  meadow  at  night, 

And  dine  on  a  can  of  "  ranger's  delight,"  * 

Get  up  in  the  morning  when  the  robins  sing, 

And  break  their  fast  at  a  nearby  spring, 

And  then  they  start  for  another  day, 

With  corners  to  hunt  and  land  to  survey. 

That  trouble  settled  they  start  for  more, 

They're  never  done  till  the  season's  o'er. 

They  build  cabins  and  fences  and  telephone  lines, 

Look  over  homesteads  and  investigate  mines. 

There's  a  telephone  call,  there's  a  fire  to  fight, 

The  rangers  are  there  both  day  and  night, 

Till  the  fire  is  out  and  damage  rated, 

And  the  stand  of  timber  is  estimated. 

Oh,  the  ranger's  life  is  full  of  joys, 

1  Tomatoes. 

39 


The  Forest  Ranger 


And  they  are  all  good,  jolly,  care-free  boys, 
And  in  wealth  they  are  sure  to  roll  and  reek, 
For  a  ranger  must  live  on  one  meal  a  week. 
But  a  lookout  man  is  a  different  thing ; 
Of  all  the  bum  loafers  he  is  the  king ;  — 
He  never  does  a  dog-gone  thing, 
Just  sit  on  a  mountain-top  and  sing, 
And  swear  when  the  phone  begins  to  ring. 


The  Forest  Ranger 


FOREST  FIRES 

There's  a  roarin'  fire  a  ragin'  through  our  splendid 

timbered  slopes, 
And  we're  fightin'  it  like  devils  —  with  nothin' 

but  some  hopes. 
Just  a  smoky  sky  above  us  and  the  cinders  'neath  our 

feet 
And  no  peltin'  raindrops  fallin'  to  make  our  souls 

more  sweet ; 
With  no  bed  of  downy  "  suggins  "  waitin'  for  our 

needed  rest, 
With  no  chuck  at  all  to  feed  us  —  and  this  surely 

ain't  no  jest! 
And  the  pay  is  ninety  dollars  —  Oh,  the  rangers' 

living  swell, 

And  we  like  this  forest  business,  but  — 
Fires  is  hell! 

Today  the  weather  changed  a  bit  —  it  began  to  rain 

like  sin  — 
And  we  stopped  the  back-firm'  where  we  were 

sure  we'd  win. 
The  lightnin*  shot  through  the  dead  tree  tops  and 

the  thunder  sure  did  roll, 
And  we  most  shook  our  hides  plumb  off,  a  shakin1 

with  the  cold. 
We   huddled   around   the  smokin*   stumps,   feelin* 

something  more  than  damp, 
And  a  wantin'  just  to  go  to  camp  —  but  hell, 
there  weren't  no  camp. 
41 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Just  a  stormy  sky  above  us  and  the  smoky  ground 

beneath, 

And  the  peltin'  raindrops  blendin'  with  the  chat 
ter  of  our  teeth. 

But  the  pay  is  ninety  dollars  —  and  the  rangers'  liv 
ing  swell, 

And  we  like  this  forest  business,  but  — 
Fires  is  hell! 

—  J.D.G. 


The  Forest  Ranger 


PROMOTION 

The  hill  of  life  is  slippery 

And  until  you've  reached  the  top, 
Though  you're  tired,  sick  and  hungry, 

You  can't  afford  to  stop. 
For  other  men  are  climbing  — 

If  you  stop,  you're  sliding  back, 
And  soon  you  will  be  numbered 

With  the  stragglers  of  the  pack. 
Take  a  man  in  any  business  — 

If  he  attains  success, 
He  must  study  what  he's  doing 

'Stead  of  doing  it  by  guess. 

It's  the  same  way  in  the  Service, 

But  it's  on  a  bigger  plan, 
And  the  problems  that  confront  us 

Are  a  test  for  every  man. 

We  must  labor  with  our  muscle 

And  also  with  our  brain, 
By  our  unremitting  efforts 

Only  will  we  realize  our  gain. 

For  the  men  in  higher  office 

Have  had  to  work  their  way 
From  the  job  of  Forest  Ranger 

To  the  job  they  hold  today. 

And  they  still  must  keep  on  working 

Just  the  same  as  you  and  I, 
For  big  pig,  or  little  pig, 
It's  root,  hog,  or  die. 

—  James  H.  Sizer 
43 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FORESTRY  STUDENT 

The  Ag  student  builds  his  pig  pen, 
The  pharmacist  compounds  his  pills, 
But  we  roam  thru  the  forests 
.     'Neath  the  pine  clad  lordly  hills. 

The  Aggie  can  handle  his  chickens, 
The  druggist  can  palm  off  his  dope, 
But  we  in  the  fir  topped  mountains 
With  Dame  Nature's  elements  cope. 

The  Aggie  boasts  of  his  Jerseys, 
The  druggist  dreams  of  his  "  scentt," 
But  we  sleep  out  in  the  open, 
The  pines  and  cedars,  our  tents. 

To  him  that  knows  not  shall  be  stated, 
And  that's  why  we  pen  these  lines, 
To  the  Aggie,  the  pharmacist,  and  others, 
Who  know  not  the  spell  of  the  pines. 

The  Montana  Kaimin. 


44 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  MYSTERY 

One  Sunday  morn  the  Deputy 

His  cayuse  did  bestride, 
And  far  and  wide  the  lonely  hills 

He  rode,  till  eventide. 

At  even'  he  shared  his  hungry  lot 
With  a  Ranger  bold  and  true, 

And  lest  you  too  should  with  him  stop, 
This  tale  I'll  tell  to  you. 

"  I  am  a  cook,"  this  Ranger  said ; 

So  by  the  lamplight's  glimmer, 
The  Deputy  he  smoked  at  ease, 

The  Ranger  cooked  the  dinner. 

With  furtive  look  he  did  produce 

An  ancient  hash  machine; 
With  sinister  smile  he  fed  it 

By  the  lamplight's  eerie  gleam. 

He  fed  it  eggs,  he  fed  it  rice, 

And  onions,  one  or  two, 
He  fed  it  chili,  meat,  and  spice, 

Nor  cheese  did  he  eschew. 

Then  solemnly  he  milk  did  add; 

He  stirred  it  nice  and  even ; 
With  blithesome  wink  and  whistle  glad 

He  put  IT  in  the  oven. 
45 


The  Forest  Ranger 


The  Deputy,  he  sat  and  smoked, 

Too  late  now  to  escape  IT ! 
The  stove  it  burned  as  if  provoked 

But  patiently  did  bake  IT. 

And  now  in  mercy  I'll  omit 

The  story  of  the  dinner, — 
Enough  to  say  we  ate  IT  all 

By  the  lamplight's  eerie  glimmer. 

When  all  was  o'er  the  Deputy 

Besought  this  Ranger  bold : 
"  This  Dish,  what  do  you  call  it,  Sir, 

This  recipe  unfold  ?  " 

"  A  Cook  am  I,"  the  Ranger  said, 
"  Fearless  and  bold  and  free  — 

THE  MYSTERY  I  call  it,  Sir, 
And  it  is  good  for  thee!  " 

On  Monday  morn  the  Deputy 

His  cayuse  did  bestride, 
A  sadder  but  a  wiser  man 

Since  Sunday's  eventide. 

—  Aldo  Leopold 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  RANGER  TO  HIS  BROTHER  AT  THE  U 

You  ask  me,  Old  pal,  of  the  forest, 

The  mountain,  the  stream  and  the  pine, 
Of  a  ranger's  life  as  I  see  it, 

So  I'll  try  to  drop  you  a  line. 
Of  course  you  are  wrapped  in  your  studies, 

(Which  I  note  from  your  card  are  few) 
But  I'll  try  to  teach  you  a  lesson; 

One  you  won't  learn  at  the  U. 

Have  you  gazed  on  big  dizzy  mountains, 

With  deep,  dark  valleys  below  ? 
Have  you  spent  the  night  in  the  forest 

So  still  you  could  hear  it  grow? 
Have  you  climbed  to  the  tops  of  the  foothills, 

Where  the  vision  ranges  free, 
And  seen  the  pines  and  the  hemlocks 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  see  ? 

Have  you  broken  the  trail  on  snowshoes, 

Staggering  blind  through  the  snow, 
And  heard  the  great  white  silence? 

You've  got  to  have  grub  —  so  you  go. 
Have  you  seen  the  stars  as  a  background, 

For  the  mountains  and  peaks  at  rest, 
As  you  stood  in  the  lookout  station 

And  watched  that  fire  in  the  west  ? 

Have  you  ever  run  out  any  firelines, 
And  gone  days  and  nights  without  sleep, 
47 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Grimed  with  the  red  rage  of  battle 

And  steeled  in  the  furnace  heat  ? 
Have  you  gazed  on  the  bleak  desolation 

And  the  blackened  trunks  as  they  sway, 
Nature's  work  for  millions  of  years 

All  destroyed  in  a  day? 

Have  you  followed  the  trail  in  the  summer, 

Sung  a  rag-time  song  on  the  hill, 
The  smell  of  the  pines  all  about  you, 

The  sunshiny  woods  all  athrill? 
You  see  a  big  buck  on  the  mountains 

And  hear  the  wild  birds  call, 
And  you  noticed  the  bigness,  the  beauty, 

Haven't  you  wondered  what's  back  of  it  all? 

Well,  son,  have  I  taught  you  a  lesson 

Can  you  read  it  between  the  lines  ? 
I  have  read  you  God's  own  sermon 

As  I  see  it  in  the  pines. 
'Tis  the  simple  text  of  nature, 

Not  heard  in  any  pew; 
Be  sure  you  write  and  tell  me  — 

Do  they  teach  you  this  at  the  U  ? 

—  James  H.  Banner 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  GILA  RANGER'S  SONG 

The  melancholy  days  have  come, 

And  this  is  a  sad,  sad  day, 

For  the  autumn's  here,  and  I  do  not  know 

What  I've  done  with  my  summer's  day. 

The  leaves  have  turned  brown,  and  come  drifting 

down, 

And  now  we  have  frost  at  night; 
I  must  rustle  around  and  get  some  clothes, 
For  these  khakis  are  mighty  light. 

My  toes  stick  out  on  the  cold,  cold  ground, 
And  it  sure  is  hard  on  my  feet ; 
But  we  can't  buy  clothes  with  the  pay  we  get, — 
It's  all  we  can  do  to  eat. 

—*Jack  Case 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  NIGHT  TRAIL 

I  rode  on  a  lonely  trail  when  night 

From  the  depths  of  the  canyons  drew 
A  dusky  veil  over  crag  and  height 

And  the  wild  land  dimmed  from  view. 
And  I  paused  a  space  on  the  rock-strewn  rise 

Where  the  trail  to  the  canyon  dips, 
To  watch  how  the  day-flush  leaves  the  skies 

Through  the  west,  where  a  rim  of  mountains  lies 
With  a  fading  glow  on  their  tips. 

In  the  moment's  hush  when  the  day  was  done 

And  the  still  world  seemed  to  wait, 
An  outcast  coyote  wailed  alone 

And  a  far  elk  called  his  mate: 
And  it  seemed  that  the  wild  things  voiced  a  dread 

Of  the  gloom  and  the  mystery, 
Of  a  Sense  of  Fate  that  with  silent  tread 

Crept  close  around,  and  whose  calling  led 
Into  ways  that  they  could  not  see. 

I  must  go  my  way,  for  the  long  miles  lead 

By  the  mountain  and  cleft  ravine ; 
And  now  must  my  mount  be  true  indeed, 

For  we  follow  a  way  unseen. 
What's  the  worth  of  a  horse,  only  we  can  say 

Who  alone  through  the  silence  ride: 
So  I  slacken  the  rein  —  let  him  find  the  way  — 

Mine  be  the  guiding  hand  by  day, 
By  night  let  his  instinct  guide. 
50 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Save  a  moon-rimmed  cloud  on  the  eastern  line, 

The  sky  wears  an  inky  shroud : 
So  still  are  the  masses  of  rock  and  pine 

That  the  hoof  beats  call  aloud. 
Down  the  canyon's  pitch  —  through  the  river  ford, 

Like  a  shade  through  a  shadow  land  — 
Then  the  stony  bar  that  leads  toward 

The  bank  where  the  willows  in  silent  horde 
Brush  by  me  with  phantom  hand. 

And  my  horse  goes  true  to  the  end  of  the  trail, 

Where  the  light  of  the  camp  shines  out  — 
And  true  goes  our  purpose  that  will  not  fail 

Till  we  pass  through  the  gloom  of  doubt : 
True  goes  the  purpose  that  leads  us  still 

When  our  cause  knows  the  hour  of  night 
Knows  the  shadows  of  greed  and  of  selfish  will  — 

For  we  know  we  but  ride  in  the  gloom  until 
Our  way  has  an  end  of  light. 

—  Scott  Leavitt 


The  Forest  Ranger 


ONLY  A  LITTLE  TREE-BUTTON 

Only  a  little  tree-button  but  it  makes  a  person  blue 
A-thinkin'  of  mountains  to  climb  up  and  timber  to 

wander  through, 
A  pack  horse  loaded  with  plunder  and  grub  enough 

for  two. 

Deer  and  fish  a-plenty  and  nothin'  whatever  to  do  — 
But  then  I  must  sew  on  buttons,  and  make  'em  stick 

like  glue. 

Oh,  just  think  of  the  valleys,  with  marigolds  all 
aglow, 

And  the  springs  that  taste  like  nectar  that  thru'  the 
meadows  flow 

Oh,  the  tiger  lilies  are  buddin',  and  the  roses  all 
ablow  — 

The  mountains  in  the  distance  are  pink  with  sun- 
tipped  snow  — 

But  this  ain't  puttin'  on  buttons,  I've  got  to  get  busy 
and  sew. 

—  Constance  Mainwaring 


The  Forest  Ranger 


RESOLUTIONS  OF  A  RANGER 

Were  resolutions  made  to  keep,  were  schedules  fol 
lowed  through, 

Were  Working  Plans  not  modified  each  hundred 
years  or  two, 

It  might  be  kind  of  serious-like  to  so  rashly  turn  'em 
loose 

On  my  unsuspectin'  District,  in  numbers  so  profuse. 

But  seein'  as  how  the  poet  saith,  that  resolves  are 
used  below 

To  pave  their  trails  and  highways  with,  and  if  what 
he  says  is  so, 

It  looks  to  me  both  logical,  and  thoughtful  and  dis 
creet, 

That  the  more  of  'em  that  I  turn  loose,  the  less  I'll 
burn  my  feet! 

So  here's  my  crop  for  New  Year's  day,  and  brother 

Ranger  mine: 
I  know  my  sentiments  agree  quite  more  or  less  with 

thine, 
So  take  these  resolutions,  which  I  recommend  for 

you 
To  keep,  and  never  break  them,  till  it's  necessary  to. 

1.  I  will  love  mine  enemies.     Yea,  though  their 
goats  abide  in  my  pasture,  though  they  tell  the  Super 
I  be  a  sonofagun,  I  will  love  them  alway. 

2.  I  will  obey  mine  hydrographer ;  before  break 
fast  will  I  read  his  gauges;  for  him  will  I  walk  in 
the  waters ;  and  for  him  mightily  will  I  labor,  tnd 
chop  the  ice  from  the  face  of  the  deep. 

53 


The  Forest  Ranger 


3.  I  will  collect  all  the  weeds  on  my  District, 
and  cherish  them  in  mine  Herbar-i-um,  that  their 
ways  shall  be  known  of  men,  and  their  Latin  names, 
and  the  length  thereof. 

4.  I  will  shun  the  Evil  One,  and  Miscellaneous 
Executive  Duties ;  yea,  these  will  I  shun. 

5.  I  will  make  Promise  Cards  for  all  things  that 
are  due  on  sea  or  land,  and  the  date  thereof. 

6.  I  will  blaze  not  from  horseback,  that  the  heart 
of  the  Boss  may  be  gladdened,  that  his  heart  may  re 
joice  in  my  District. 

7.  I  will  count  all  the  cones  of  the  trees,  and  the 
full  measure  thereof  will  I  report  as  the  Seed-Crop. 
Yea,  though  the  D.  F.  command  me  to  collect  an 
thousand  pounds,  and  mine  hair  be  made  gray  and 
full  of  pitch,  so  will  I  report. 

8.  In  the  month  of  Fires  I  will  drape  my  cay  use 
with  shovels;  with  rakes  of  steel  and  pickaxes  of  iron 
shall  my  mule  be  laden,  and  I  will  dwell  in  mine 
Lookout  many  days. 

9.  I  will  diligently  survey  mine  June  n's,  nor 
will   I   list  where  groweth   the  pine-tree;   I   will 
recommend  him  not  for  listing,  though  my  survey 
twinkle  as  the  stars,  though  it  be  shapen  like  the  pan 
cakes  of  an  Tenderfoot,  verily  I  will  recommend 
him  not. 

10.  I  will  honor  the  Super  all  the  days  of  my  life, 
and  the  Working  Plan  forever  and  ever. 

—  A Ido  Leopold 
54 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  RANGER'S  DAY 

In  the  morning  I  get  up  at  eight, 
I  light  the  fire  and  then  I  wait 

Until  the  clock  has  time  to  go 
Around  the  dial  a  time  or  so. 

Then  when  the  fire  is  going  good, 
I  go  and  chop  a  little  wood ; 

Not  much,  you  know,  it  wouldn't  pay 
To  chop  it  all  up  in  one  day. 

Then  I  put  the  coffee  on  to  boil, 
And  other  stuff,  so  it  won't  spoil ; 

I  mix  the  dough  gobs  in  a  pan 
Given  to  me  by  "  the  Old  Man." 

Then  when  I've  had  my  fill  of  food 
(I  call  it  that  —  it's  pretty  good) 

I  wash  what  dishes  there  may  be, 
A  pan,  a  pot,  and  a  cup,  by  gee ! 

Then  I  saddle  up  old  Kit, 
Go  out  and  look  around  a  bit, 

Up  to  the  lookout  —  an  awful  climb  — 
Come  back  down  —  and  it's  supper  time. 

After  supper  I  go  to  bed, 

A  hard  day's  work,  and  I'm  nearly  dead, 
And  I  dream  of  a  song  that  now  is  rife, 

I  think  it's  called,  "  This  is  the  life." 

From  The  Forestry  Kaimin, 
University  of  Montana. 

55 


The  Forest  Ranger 


SKIDOO  SKIS 

The  snow  was  smooth  and  crusted,  three  feet  deep 

or  more, 

Couldn't  travel  horseback  as  in  the  days  of  yore : 
Mountains  steep  and   rugged  covered   thick  with 

trees ; 
Had  to  fix  the  phone  line,  so  made  a  pair  o'  skis. 

Started  o'er  the  mountain,  but  I  hadn't  fur  to  go 
Till  I  looked  off  in  a  canyon  a  thousand  feet 

below, 
Got  straddle  of  my  brake-pole  and  slid  off  o'er  the 

brink, — 

But  of  the  consequences  I  hadn't  stopped  to  think. 
Started  mighty  sudden,  and  in  no  time  at  all 

I  was  shootin'  down  the  mountain  like  a  glancin' 

rifle  ball; 
Trees  passed  my  line  of  vision  in  a  dim  and  misty 

blur, — 

Skis  and  snow  a-makin'  a  sort  of  sick'nin'  whir. 
Then  came  a  big  explosion  from  somewhere  on  the 

line, 

And  I  landed  in  the  branches  of  an  old  dead  pine ; 
Got  myself  extracted,  dug  snow  out  of  my  eyes ; 

Couldn't  find  my  pill-bag  of  telephone  supplies. 
The  skis  had  quit  the  country, —  wind  was  mighty 

cold, 
Looked  like  there'd  been  an  earthquake,  but  guess 

'twas  where  I'd  rolled ; 
Clothes  all  tore  to  thunder, —  bark  off  both  my 

knees, 

Resultin'  from  the  antics  of  them  gol-darned  skis ! 

—  Jama  H.  Smer 


The  Forest  Ranger 


,  A  RANGER'S  WORKING  PLAN 

His  trail  is  not  strewn  with  roses, 

His  life's  not  the  life  of  a  king; 
His  knowledge  must  equal  Jehovah's  — 

He's  supposed  to  know  everything. 

Sheep  herders,  free  users  and  cowmen 
Throng  his  station  thro'out  the  day, 

While  his  "  Working  Plan  "   lies  unfinished   and 

waiting, 
Till  they've  "  augured  "  and  rode  on  their  way. 

He  has  Uses  and  Settlement  and  Grazing, 

Improvements  and  Claims  —  which  he  hates  — 

Though  it's  hard  to  get  a  promotion, 
He  tries  and  he  tries  and  he  waits. 

But  through  it  all  he  rides  in  his  glory, 

His  badge  ashine  in  the  sun, 
With  his  "  Working  Plan  "  ever  before  him, 

Saying,  "  Somehow  I've  got  to  get  it  all  done." 

—  J.  D.G. 


57 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FORESTER'S  LAMENT 
(Tune  "On  the  Road  to  Mandalay.") 

For  the  planting  of  a  forest,  they  have  put  us  here 
to  roam, 

With  the  mountains  for  a  play-ground,  and  the 
chaparral  for  home, 

But  on  these  sunbaked  hillsides,  where  the  sage 
brush  grows  so  free 

In  the  dim  and  distant  future,  a  pine  forest  you  may 
see. 

CHORUS 
Our  respects  to  Billy  Hall,  he's  the  guy  what  runs 

us  all, 
And  hell  do  this  bloomin'  planting,  if  it  can  be  done 

at  all, 
But  askin'  them  that  know  it  best,  Hosmer,  Miller 

and  the  rest, 
How  without  a  drop  of  water,  can  you  plant  the 

Golden  West? 

v 

We've  a  cactus  for  a  pillow,  and  a  yucca  for  a  seat, 
And  our  hobnails  hot  and  heavy,  raisin'  blisters  on 

our  feet, 
But  now  these  things  we're  used  to,  and  we  do  not 

give  a  d 

For  we're  children  of  the  Bureau  and  we're  slaves  of 

Uncle  Sam. 

58 


The  Forest  Ranger 


CHORUS 
Try  surveying  as  we've  tried  it,  on  shanks  mare  each 

mountain  side, 
And  you'll  be  most  gol  durn  thankful,  when  you've 

crossed  your  last  divide. 

Oh,  it's  better  let  alone  for  it's  drier  than  a  bone, 
Every  blessed  inch  of  country  from  Mt.  Lowe  to 
San  Anton. 

—  R.  W.  Ayres 
San  Gabriel  Forest  Reserve,  1903. 


59 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  RANGER'S  JOYS 

Did  you  ever  for  a  Summer,  try  a  "  bachelor  stunt  " 

alone, 
In  a  lonely  mountain  meadow,  forty  miles  away 

from  home, 
Where  mosquitos  wore  no  muzzles,  and  the  flies 

knew  how  to  bite, 
And  the  rattlesnakes  were  plenty,  and  the  coyotes 

howled  at  night? 
Did  you  ever  cook  your  "  flapjacks  "  in  a  house  so 

full  of  smoke, 
That  your  tears  dripped  in  the  batter?     It   is 

funny,  but  no  joke. 

Have  you  burned  your  beans  and  bacon,  wished  de 
voutly  for  a  wife  ? 

If  you  haven't,  then  you're  missing  half  the  joys  of 
Rangers'  life. 

Have  you  tried  to  catch  your  horses  in  a  meadow 

wet  with  dew, 
Where  the  grass  grew  rank  and  luscious,  that 

wet  your  clothing  thru'  ? 
Watched  them  kick  their  heels  with  pleasure,  and 

then  start  on  a  run 
Across  that  same  wet  meadow,  till  you  wished  you 

had  a  gun? 

Did  you  finally  corral  them  in  a  corner  of  the  fence, 
Stamping,  snorting,  wildly  eager,  looking  for  an 
other  chance 
To  dash  by  you,  kick  their  heels  up,  just  as  though 

you  were  a  stranger  ? 

If  you  haven't,  then  you're  missing  half  the  joys 
of  a  Forest  Ranger. 

60  ' 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Have  you  ridden  for  an  hour,  by  the  side  of  a  roar 
ing  brook, 
Watching  trout  jump  in  the  sunlight,  when  you 

didn't  have  a  hook? 
When  the  shadows  on  the  water  were  alluring  as  a 

dream, 
Did  you  mutter  a  few  "  cuss  words  "  as  you  left 

that  tempting  stream  ? 
Did  you  swear  by  all  that's  Holy,  that  as  sure  as 

Sunday  came, 
You'd  be  back  there  with  your  fishrod  and  mix  in 

that  little  game? 
Did  you  roll  out  Sunday  morning,  half  awake  and 

half  asleep, 

To  get  this  little  message,  "  Can  you  go  count 
Freeman's  sheep  "  ? 

Have  you  ridden  through  the  Forest  with  the  shad 
ows  at  your  feet, 
While  the  grouse  were  drumming  'round  you, 

and  you  hadn't  any  meat, 
And  the  quail  were  thick  as  spatter,  and  you  couldn't 

take  a  shot, 
Did  the  "  badge  "  on  your  suspenders  help  your 

feelings  out  a  lot? 
And  at  night  when  you're  so  tired  you  can  hardly 

even  eat, 
Does  some  tourist  "  drop  in  on  you,"  take  your 

only  easy  seat, 
Stick  his  feet  up  on  your  stove  hearth,  and  although 

he  is  a  stranger, 

Tell  you  calmly  as  he  lolls  there,  "  It's  a  snap  to 
be  a  Ranger"? 

6 1  — A.  R.  Ivey 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FOREST  FIRE  FIGHTERS 

The  wind  sweeps  off  the  spire-like  peak, 

And  is  whirling  the  cinders  high ; 
While  down  in  the  stifling,  deadly  reek, 

We  struggle,  and  all  but  die. 

We  have  felled  the  trees  in  the  fire's  path, 
Till  our  hands  are  bleeding  and  sore ; 

But  always  it  speeds,  with  a  hiss  of  wrath, 
And  leaps  the  barrier  o'er. 

We  have  fought  it  back,  with  blaze  'gainst  blaze, 

And  yet  has  the  foe  slipped  past ; 
But  slowly  we  yield,  in  the  choking  haze, 

Till  the  victory's  won  at  last. 

Small  pay  do  we  get,  and  thanks  are  gruff, 
When  we've  fought  the  foe  to  his  knees; 

But,  after  all,  the  reward's  enough, 
When  we  hear  the  wind  in  the  trees. 

—  Arthur  Chapman 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  RANGER  ON  THE  TAHOE 

The  ranger  on  the  Tahoe,  in  the  winter  has  a  snap, 
He  has  nothing  to  do  but  work  till  hiking  time 

comes  back. 
When  the  season's  fires  are  over,  full  of  joy  he 

comes  to  town, 
He's  maybe  got  the  notion  that  he's  going  to  lay 

around, 
But  the  Boss,  too,  has  a  notion  and  it's  mixed  with 

plenty  tact, 
For  he  grips  our  hands  with  pleasure;  says  "  I'm 

glad  to  see  you  back. 
We've  had  a  dandy  season,  and  it's  time  to  take  a 

rest, 

We're  going  to  plant  some   seedlings  —  fifteen 
thousand  at  the  best. 

"  The  job  will  soon  be  finished,  so  just  to  fill  out  time, 
We'll  sow  two  hundred  acres  with  the  seed  of 

Jeffrey  Pine. 
Of  course  we'll  let  all  trail  work  lay  over  till  the 

Spring. 
If  it  rains  we'll  make  out  estimates,  reports,  and 

other  things, 

And  do  a  little  mapping,  and  straighten  up  our  files, 

Also  figure  on  a  trail  that  will  save  us  many  miles. 

And  since  the  phone  last  season  proved  just  to  be 

THE  THING, 

We'll  build  a  line  to  Bloomfield  between  now  and 
the  Spring. 

63 


The  Forest  Ranger 


"  It's  only  fourteen  miles,  and  of  course  we'll  cut 

the  poles, 
And  cut  the  brush  along  the  way,  and  also  dig  the 

holes ; 
We'll  stretch  the  wire,  install  the  phone,  and  thus 

cut  down  expense, — 
And  then  by  way  of  resting,  we're  going  to  build 

a  fence, 
For  our  seedlings  need  protection  from  the  sheep, 

the  cow,  and  horse. 
And  then  in  stormy  weather  (When  we  can't  get 

out,  of  course) 
We  can  study  up  on  Grazing,  Silviculture  and  the 

like, 

To  polish  up  our  *  Thinker '  before  we  have  to 
hike." 

So  the  ranger  on  the  Tahoe  has  nothing  to  do  but 

work, 
But  you  can't  hear  any  kicking,  and  no  one  tries 

to  shirk, 
For  we've  got  to  keep  on  hustling  if  we  finish  up 

by  Spring. 
You  can  bet  your  badge  we'll  be  there  with  every 

single  thing. 
We're  a  happy  bunch  of  rangers  and  when  we  have 

to  part, 
We'll  have  a  friendly  feeling  for  each  other  in  our 

heart. 
And  we'll  start  our  summer's  duties  with  a  great 

deal  keener  zest, 
Than  if  we  hadn't  hustled  to  get  a  winter's  rest. 

—  A.   R.  Ivey 
64 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  SURVEY  CREW 

It's  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  of  the  moccasined  feet 

As  through  the  muck  we  wallow, 
And  it's  champ,  champ,  champ  of  the  hungry  jaws, 

As  our  bread  and  tea  we  swallow. 

In  the  life  of  the  Forester's  crew 

It's  damned  hard  work  we  do. 
For  it's  sweat  all  day  and  it's  freeze  all  night, 

In  the  life  of  the  Forester's  crew. 

Chesuncook,  Me.,  1902. 


The  Forest  Ranger 


SPARE  TIME 

I've  heard  tell  of  side-hill  gougers,  cactus  bucks,  and 

ten  pound  trout; 
Some  say  they  go  'round  foretellin'  how  the  moon  is 

going  out  ; 
Now  I  don't  misdoubt,  but  sometime,  somewhere, 

some  such  things  may  be, 
But  if  they're  rangin'  on  my  District,  they've  fought 

mighty  shy  o'  me. 

Still  a  fellow  can't  be  certain  what  things  is  and 
what  can't  be; 

There's  some  big  one  circulatin'  footloose  here  in 
District  Three. 

Ever  hear  how  on  the  Datil  all  the  cows  was  painted 
red? 

Till  it  rained  and  percolated  pigments  off  the  water 
shed? 

Other  wonders  too  is  chousin'  round  across  the  scen 
ery- 
Heard  as  how  on  the  Apache  a  billion  dollar  sale 

there'll  be? 
How  the  Gila  had  some  burros  workin'  in  their 

Working  Plan, 

Millin'  'round  the  Workin'  Circle?  (till  the  D.  F. 
tied  the  can). 

Now  these  wonders  I'm  relatin'  incidental-like  to 
you 

Just  to  lead  up  gradual  to  my  most  obsessin'  buga 
boo. 

66 


The  Forest  Ranger 


If  the  Lord  should  run  my  District  even  He'd  be 

cuttin'  sign 
To  find  that  scarce  commodity  that  the  Super  calls 

"  spare  time." 

Not  that  I'd  have  you  think  it's  scarce  in  print.     I 

know 
Them  files  of  mine  would  assay  out  'round  twenty 

pounds  or  so, 
'Cause  rainy  days  and  winter  time  and  idle  hours  at 

nights 
In  circulars  and  schedule  sheets  is  sure  the  favorites. 

But  of  the  actual  article  it  still  pains  me  to  forego 

Actual  adverse  bonny-fide  possession  a  week  or  so ; 

Might  requisition  some  from  Ogden, —  maybe  there 
they've  got  some  loose, 

But  I  s'pose  they'd  say  as  usual  that  it  ain't  for  Ran 
gers'  use. 

Now  I've  got  just  one  more  idea;  b'lieve  some  day 

I'll  try  it  out  — 

Write  a  letter  to  the  Zuni,  Coronado  or  the  Routt, 
Or  better  yet,  the  Coconino,  t'send  me  what  they've 

got  to  spare  ; 
Never  yet  heard  tell  o'  nothin'  that  they  didn't  have 

out  there! 

Now,  my  friend,  I'd  best  be  travellin'.     Adios!  and 

don't  forget 

That  spare  time  for  writin'  verses  is  the  only  kind 
I  get. 

—  Aldo  Leopold 
67 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  RANGER'S  LIFE 

Nights  that  are  spent  in  the  open, 

Under  the  whispering  trees; 
Slumber  that's  sweet  and  dreamless  — 

Lullabys  sung  by  the  breeze. 
Waked  by  the  first  red  sunbeam 

Unto  no  day  of  strife  — 
Waked  to  a  day  of  pleasure  — 

Such  is  the  ranger's  life. 

Over  paths  necked  with  sunshine, 

Threading  the  tree-lined  ways; 
Fording  a  snow-born  streamlet 

There  where  the  big  trout  plays. 
Surprising  the  elk  at  the  dawning  — 

The  bear  at  his  clumsy  play  — 
Feeling  the  heart-beat  of  Nature, 

Such  is  the  ranger's  day. 

Think  you  the  city  can  call  him? 

What  charm  has  the  market  place? 
Why  should  he  turn  from  the  mountains, 

Inviting,  from  peak  to  base. 
Town's  but  to  dream  of  at  even, 

When  camp  fire  smoke  curls  high. 
So  lives  the  forest  ranger 

Under  the  western  sky. 

—  Arthur  Chapmen 

68 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  BUG-LAND  LULLABY 

Once  an  old  Beetle  Dendroctonus, 

Decided  the  world  he  would  see; 
So  he  left  the  dead  tree  in  the  orchard, 

With  his  wife  and  Denny,  the  Wee. 
They  traveled  far  over  the  mesa, 

And  loitered  along  the  way; 
But  reached  a  likely  forest, 

Just  at  the  close  of  day. 

Hush-a-by,  Lull-a-by, 

Sleep,  for  the  birds  have  not  gotten  us, 

Hush-a-by,  Lull-a-byf 

Dear  little  Denny  Dendroctonus, 

The  welcoming  breeze  in  the  branches, 

Drove  the  roving  desire  away; 
And  Daddy  Beetle  Dendroctonus, 

Decided  to  locate  and  stay. 
So  deep  in  a  tree  he  went  drilling, 

Deep  in  a  tree  that  stood  high, 
And  dug  out  some  canals  adjoining, 

In  which  little  Denny  could  lie. 

Hush-a-by,  Lull-a-by, 

Sleep  in  your  beetly  thoughtlessness ', 

Hush-a-by,  Lull-a-by, 

Dear  little  Denny  Dendroctonus, 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Soon  the  dead  leaves  will  be  falling; 

Soon  this  big  tree  will  decay. 
You  will  wax  fat  on  its  failing, 

For  that  is  the  Droctonus  way. 
Soon  you'll  grow  up  and  go  drilling, 

Over  the  woods  as  you  please, 
Leaving  behind  a  gaunt  pathway, 

Of  dead  and  withering  trees. 

Hush-a-by,  Lull-a-byt 

Sleep,  for  the  Ranger  s  forgotten  us, 

Hush-a-by,  Lull-a-by, 

Dear  little  Denny  Dendroctonus, 

—  H.R.Mullen 


70 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  HOBO  RANGER 

He  is  just  a  Hobo  Ranger, 
But  he  packs  a  heavy  load. 

For  it's  Lookout  Peaks  in  summer, 
And  it's  winter  on  the  road. 

The  road  is  up  the  South  Payette, 
And  she's  sure  a  fancy  grade, 
But  he  never  gets  to  use  her, 
When  once  he's  got  her  made. 

There's  a  schoolmarm  in  the  Valley, 
And  he  likes  to  see  her  smile, 

But  there  are  snowslides  in  between  them, 
And  it's  many  a  weary  mile. 

When  you  sit  in  your  steam  het  office, 
And  your  cigar's  all  aglow, 
Think  about  the  Hobo  Ranger 
Where  it's  twenty-five  below. 

For  he's  blasting  out  the  solid  rock, 
And  picking  out  the  muck, 

He's  thinking  about  you  lucky  guys 
And  cussing  at  his  luck. 

But  when  he  gets  his  out-fit  packed, 
And  climbs  the  Last  Divide, 
He  finds  old  Peter  waiting, 
And  the  gates  are  open  wide. 
71 


The  Forest  Ranger 


He'll  gladly  turn  his  horses  out, 
For  the  forage  bill's  all  paid ; 

He'll  pull  his  worn  old  hair  chaps  off, 
And  sit  down  in  the  shade. 

He'll  hear  the  harps  a-strumming, 
As  he'll  be  sitting  on  the  grass, 

For  the  "  rock  pile  "  is  far  behind  him, 
And  he's  got  his  Station  at  last. 

—  Norman  K.  Olmstead 


The  Forest  Ranger 


SUN  RIVER  PASS 

Till  you  have  seen  the  sun  set  behind  Sun  River 

Pass 

You  have  not  seen  the  sunset  none  other  can  surpass ! 
On  left  and  right  rock  battlements  guard  close  the 

canyon's  mouth 
And  Castle  Reef  stands  on  the  north,  and  Sawtooth 

on  the  south: 
The  Castle's  wall  has  keep  and  tower,  and  mul- 

lioned  parapets, 
And  Sawtooth's  ridge  is  shot  with  spires  like  moslem 

minarets. 
Before,  the  plain  sweeps  wide  and  far,  a  spell-held, 

silent  sea 
Whose  breakers  at  the  rampart's  foot  have  caught 

Eternity  — 
So  short  the  stretch  of  broken  land  that  rims  the 

prairies'  sweep, 
Abrupt  and  tall  the  giant  walls  from  out  the  prairies 

leap  — 

So  close  behind  the  gated  pass  the  crowded  moun 
tains  stand, 
The  canyon's  but  a  door  that  leads  from  plain  to 

mountain  land. 

From  out  the  plain  in  mystic  train,  when  day  is 

drawing  late, 
The  sunset  lights  like  belted  Knights  ride  through 

that  castle  gate ! 
A  glowing  host  with  spears  agleam,  the  Day's  bright 

armies  go, 

And,  silent  o'er  the  fading  land,  Night's  vanguard 
follows  slow. 

73 


The  Forest  Ranger 


And  now  come  pacing  sentinels  of  light  upon  the 

walls, 
And  soft  across  the  ramparts'  face  a  magic  splendor 

falls  — 
The  fortress  towers  in  sudden  glow  with  golden 

hosts  are  manned, 
And  Day  behind  Sun  River  Pass  has  taken  up  his 

stand ! 
From  canyon's  gate  to  Castle's  crest  his  sun-bright 

banners  play; 
He's  lit  his  fires  on  Sawtooth's  spires  and  waits  the 

coming  fray  — 
He's  lit  his  fires  on  Sawtooth's  spires,  he  waits  on 

Castle's  crest, 
His  armies  climb  the  glowing  peaks  and  spread 

along  the  west. 

Like  Bedouins  from  the  desert  depths,  Night's 
shadow  warriors  swarm : 

In  silence  on  the  dark'ning  plain  the  sable  legions 
form! 

So  still  they  move  toward  the  gap,  so  quick  the  col 
umns  mass, 

They've  purpled  on  the  fortress  walls,  they've  dark 
ened  in  the  pass, 

Ere,  flashing  from  the  guarded  gate  in  flood  of  daz 
zling  light, 

A  burst  of  Day  in  fierce  foray  leaps  out  upon  the 
Night! 

Now,  far  across  the  bursting  plain  the  startled  shad 
ows  fly  — 

Now,  out  upon  the  glooming  plain  the  lights  begin 
to  die! 

74 


The  Forest  Ranger 


The  hosts  of  Night  have  paused  in  flight  —  the  scat 
tered  Shades  return  — 

And  back,  toward  the  gated  pass,  Day's  failing  war 
riors  turn. 

The  earth  glows  red  where  they  lie  dead;  the  red 

has  paled  to  gray  — 

And  once  again  before  the  walls  Night  waits,  in 
grim  array. 

Now  look,  upon  the  Castle's  crest,  what  glories 
wane  and  glow ! 

And  look,  upon  Old  Sawtooth's  spires,  what  splen 
dors  come  and  go ! 

The  walls  are  bathed  in  crimson  mist,  the  gate  is 
choked  with  gloom, 

And  dim,  behind,  as  though  in  dread,  the  waiting 
mountains  loom. 

Grim,  silent  as  a  dreaming  tide,  and  Shadow  hordes 
move  on  — 

They've  scaled  the  sullen  fortress  walls  and  through 
the  gates  have  gone: 

One  scarlet  flash  along  the  rim  when  Light  and 
Darkness  meet, 

And  instant  from  the  graying  peaks  is  Daylight's 
quick  retreat :  — 

And  the  Spell  of  Night  comes  moving  like  a  conq'ror 
o'er  the  land, 

And  scatters  out  the  sudden  stars  as  largess  from  his 
hand  — 

With  a  van  of  mystic  shadows,  and  a  train  of  moon 
lit  state, 

He  seats  him  on  the  silent  towers  that  guard  Sun 
River's  gate. 

—  Scott  Leavitt 
75 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  RANGER'S  NEW  YEAR'S  RESOLU 
TIONS 

On  New  Years,  he  resolved  to  be, 
The  busiest  man,  the  world  could  see. 

He  would  work  out  his  trails, 
Make  some  large  timber  sales, 

Which  would  add  to  his  district's  receipts ; 
Then  improvements  galore, 

Would  be  made  near  his  door, 
And  his  cabin  kept  tidy  and  neat. 

He  vow'd  he  would  see, 

That  each  permittee, 
Paid  fees  upon  all  of  his  cows, 

To  keep  Uncle  Sam, 
From  going  ker-slam, 

Straight  to  —  the  eternal  bow-wows. 

And  during  fire  season, 

He'd  find  out  the  reason, 
For  every  smoke  in  the  sky ; 

And  he'd  fight  with  a  vim, 
And  he'd  never  give  in, 

Until  never  a  spark  could  he  spy. 

Prior  authority  he'd  sue, 

Before  buying  aught  new, 
And  he'd  strive  his  "  Super  "  to  please ; 

For  Economy's  need, 
He  would  throttle  his  greed, 

And  every  last  dollar  he'd  squeeze. 

76 


The  Forest  Ranger 


'Most  too  perfect,  'tis  true, 

Yet  each  man  might  thus  do, 
If  he  wishes  to  climb  some  day; 

For  ambitions  which  sail, 
Are  the  ones  which  avail, 

In  this  speedy  old  world  of  today. 

—  H.  R.  Batterton 


77 


The  Forest  Ranger 


CIRCULAR  ONE-FOUR-NINE-SEVEN  1 

From  somewhere  'pon  this  sea  of  distress 
A  Clerk  is  sounding  his  S  O  S 
And  say  in' — "  Why  in  the  name  of  heaven 
Don't  they  heed  order  one-four-nine-seven  ?  " 
And  under  the  covers  of  Six  Twenty-Six 
Was  given  the  right  to  register  his  kick. 
He  asks  if  somewhere  in  this  broad  expanse 
There  dwells  a  Clerk  who  has  had  the  chance 
To  go  upon  the  Forest,  so  grand  and  so  large, 
And  check  up  the  property  for  which  he  is  charged, 
See  the  activities  of  which  he  keeps  ..track, 
Get  much  information  and  take  it  all  back. 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly  'long  the  way 

As  I  rode  in  the  stage  drawn  by  four  horses,  grey  — 

To  clean  up  the  files  of  Ranger  McKyne, 

Look  for  the  property,  'n'  do  things  of  that  kind. 

The  tools  were  scattered  for  ten  miles  'round 

And  most  of  them  yet  I  have  never  found. 

The  files  came  next  and  they  were  some  mess, 

What  did  I  say  —  Aw  can't  you  guess? 

With  the  accumulation  of  many  a  season 

Since  Adam  and  Eve  walked  in  the  garden  of  Eden 

Piled  together  in  one  box  marked  "  Current  "  ; 

Now  do  you  blame  me  for  wantin'  to  burn  it? 

Then  I  journeyed  home  next  week  at  'leven, 

Not  caring  so  much  'bout  one-four-nine-scven. 

1  The  number  of  a  circular  letter  on  property  and  sup 
plies. 

78 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Telephone  rang  and  the  lookout's  report 
Said  — "  another  fire,  go  to  it,  Old  Sport, 
For  the  Super's  away  and  the  Rangers  too, 
Fightin'  the  other  one,  so  it's  up  to  you." 
And  to  it  we  went  —  six  men  and  the  clerk, 
To  put  out  that  blaze  and  come  back  to  work. 
Squelch  it  we  did,  then  sat  down  to  rest 
When  from  over  the  hills  came —  I'll  be  blest! 
Another  one  yet  —  bigger  one  too, 
"  Go  to  it,  Old  Sport,  it's  up  to  you." 
On  Tuesday  morning  before  half-past  nine 
Seventy-five  huskies  were  out  on  the  line, 
Guided  by  Rangers,  tired  and  foot-sore, 
Saying,  "  Come  along,  boys,  do  a  little  more." 
The  flames  did  roar  and  the  squirrels  did  squeal, 
And  me  with.nine  blisters  upon  each  heel; 
With  fifty  hours  past  I  lay  on  my  back 
'Neath  a  tree  by  the  camp,  chewing  hard  tack, 
Till  sleep  came  on  and  I  dreamed  of  heaven, 
Where  there  would  be  no  One-Four-Nine-Seven. 

—  William  E.  Harris 


79 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  TOURIST  AND  THE  RANGER 

A  bloody,  bloomin'  tenderfoot  was  sittin'  on  a  gate, 
When  I  come  driftin'  down  the  road 
A-travelin'  quite  a  gait: 

"I  say  there,  Ranger-man,  Too-hoo ! 

Come  chat  a  jiffy  here  — 

Do  tell  me  what  it  is  you  do ! 

By  Jove!     It  seems  so  queer." 

0  Reginald!     Sweet  Reginald,  I  to  myself  did  say, 

1  e'en  am  but  a  Ranger-man,  that  in  the  hills  doth 

play. 
And  since  thou  art  a  cunning  thing,  so  dapper  and 

so  neat, 
To  thee  my  little  tale  I'll  tell.     Forsooth,  did  I  re* 

peat : 

"  Fair  Sir,  I  am  a  Ranger-man 
And  my  home  is  in  the  hills, 
My  food's  the  sweet  dew  at  dawn, 
My  drink  the  mountain  rills. 
My  charger  is  my  faithful  friend 
That  takes  me  where  I  go, 
And  though  some  nights  in  bed  I  spend 
It  is  not  always  so. 
"  Fair  Sir,  I  am  a  Ranger-man 
And  I  love  the  breeze  of  spring. 
I  love  to  see  the  saplings  grow 
And  hear  the  birdies  sing. 
I  love  to  see  the  rocks  and  trees 
And  the  posies  small  that  blow 
And  the  little  buglets  on  the  leaves 
Whose  Latin  names  I  know. 
80 


The  Forest  Ranger 


"  Fair  Sir,  I  am  a  Ranger-man 
And  my  duties,  Sir,  are  these : 
I  am  in  charge  for  Uncle  Sam 
Of  forty-'leven  trees, 
For  each  am  I  responsible, 
Each  has  his  name  and  number 
And  forth  to  tend  them,  Sir,  I  go 
When  I  waken  from  my  slumber. 
"  Fair  Sir,  I  am  a  Ranger-man 
And  never  do  I  tire 
To  sit  upon  yon'  mountain  top 
And  see  they're  not  on  fire. 
In  readiness  I  wait  and  watch 
Each  one,  from  '  Pete '  to  '  Nero,' 
And  ne'er  another  chance  I'll  lose 
To  be,  Fair  Sir,  a  Hero. 

"  Fair  Sir,  I  am  a  Ranger-man 
And  when  the  morn  is  done, 
I  get  my  brush  and  curry-comb 
And  curry  down  each  one; 
And  when  their  limbs  are  clean  and  neat 
And  their  trunks  are  smooth  and  brown, 
With  Ivory  Soap  and  water  warm 
I  wash  them  gently  down." 

And  now,  when  e'er  my  uniform,  I  snag  upon  a  root, 
Or  when  my  charger  puts  his  foot,  e'en  gently  on 

my  boot, 

Or  if  I  drop  upon  my  toe,  a  rock  of  heavy  weight, 
I  weep,  for  it  reminds  me  o'  that  summer  eve  with 
"  Regie  "  on  the  gate. 

—  Aldo  Leopold 
81 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  HEGIRA 

(A  large  portion  of  the  clerical  force  of  the  Forest  Serv 
ice  were  moved  into  the  West  in  the  fall  and  winter  of 
1908,  with  headquarters  in  the  cities  of  San  Francisco,  Den 
ver,  Portland,  Albuquerque,  Ogden,  and  Missoula.) 

Oh,  they're  whispering  in  the  corners 

And  talking  in  the  hall, 
They  are  scheming  and  a-planning 

Where  to  migrate  in  the  fall, 
They  are  telling  one  another 

Of  the  places  they  like  best; 
Oh,  the  whole  blame  outfit's  "  locoed  " 

'Cause  we're  going  out  West. 

"  Have  you  ever  lived  in  Portland?  " 

"  Is  it  wet  or  is  it  dry?  " 
"  Do  you  think  you'd  like  Missoula?  " 

"  If  you  do,  please  tell  me  why?  " 
"  Is  the  living  high  in  Denver?  " 

"  Are  the  ladies  there  well  dressed  ?  " 
Oh,  these  are  burning  questions, 

'Cause  we're  going  out  West. 

"  Now  /  want  to  go  to  Frisco, 

Even  tho'  the  earth  does  quake." 
"  Well,  I'm  wild  to  see  a  Mormon, 

So  I'd  much  prefer  Salt  Lake." 
"  Do  you  think  that  I'd  get  homesick?  " 

"  Are  the  Frisco  fleas  a  pest?  " 
What  a  turmoil  has  been  started, 

'Cause  we're  going  out  West. 
82 


The  Forest  Ranger 


"  Oh,  they  say  that  board's  expensive 

In  the  town  of  Albuquerque." 
"  But  you  needn't  take  a  street  car 

For  to  reach  your  daily  work." 
"  Well,  I've  heard  the  living's  awful, 

(Now  please  don't  think  me  silly) 
But  really,  do  they  live  out  there 

On  only  beans  and  chili?  " 
Oh,  such  like  doubts  and  troubles 

Daily  agitate  the  breast, 
Of  each  one  in  the  Service, 

'Cause  we're  going  out  West. 

—  Will  C.  Barnes 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  FOREST  INSPECTION  HYMN 

Our  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the 
Lords, 

They  have  read  our  diaries  over  where  the  seeds  of 
truth  are  stored ; 

They  have  loosed  the  fateful  lightnings  of  their  ter 
ribly  hard  words; 
And  they've  gone  marching  on. 

We  have  seen  them  at  the  camp  fires  of  a  dozen  ran 
gers'  camps; 

We  have  builded  them  a  chuck  list  in  the  mountain 
dews  and  damps: 

We  shall  read  their  righteous  sentence  by  our  dim 

and  lonely  lamps; 
While  they've  gone  marching  on. 

We  have  heard  their  fiery  gospel  handed  out  with 

every  meal ; 
"  As  ye  deal  with  our  instructions,  so  with  you  our 

reports  shall  deal; 
Let  the  Ranger  of  the  Apache  crush  the  fires  with 

his  heel ; 
Since  we've  gone  marching  on." 

They   have  sounded   forth   instructions   that   shall 

never  know  retreat; 
They  have  sifted  out  our  office  files  before  their 

judgment  seat; 


The  Forest  Ranger 


O,  be  swift  our  souls  to  follow  them,  Get  busy,  O, 

our  feet; 
For  they've  gone  marching  on. 

In  the  beauty  of  the  Office  the  Lords  and  Powers 

that  Be; 
Have  a  glory  all  about  them  that  transfigures  you 

and  me; 
As  they  strive  to  make  us  perfect,  let  us  work  to 

make  them  see, 
That  we're  going  marching  on. 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THIS  JOB 

The  supervisor's  troubles  are  not  all  known, 
The  job  seems  so  easy  to  handle, 

For  your  benefit  therefore  I  will  relate 
A  bit  of  gossip  and  scandal. 

From  morning  till  noon  I  labor, 

From  noon  till  twilight's  fall, 
Listening  to  complaints  by  hundreds, 

Straightening  out  many  a  brawl. 

Sponsor  for  numerous  inspections, 

Information  I  freely  dispense, 
Of  homesteaders  I  am  the  adviser  — 

Really,  my  field  is  immense. 

Three  hours  each  day  I  write  letters  — 
That's  after  my  other  work's  done. 

Believe  me,  with  hundreds  to  answer, 
To  dictate  I  have  to  go  some. 

1  plan  and  I  sweat  and  I  worry, 
I  please  one  but  another  gets  sore. 

So  what  in  the  deuce  is  the  use,  then, 
Of  saying  that  this  job's  some  bore. 

—  A  Supervisor 


86 


The  Forest  Ranger 


WIRELESS  BILL 

The  sun  shone  hot  as  he  rode  on  a  trot 

From  Baseline  down  the  Blue, 
'Twas  a  rocky  trail  that  he  rode  for  mail 

And  he  wished  that  the  job  was  thru. 
As  he  spurred  old  "  Buck,"  he  cussed  his  luck 

And  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face, 
And  hoped  that  he  might  some  day  be 

Transferred  to  another  place. 

That  night  in  town,  he  was  looking  around 

While  out  for  a  little  stroll, 
When  he  saw  a  guy  making  fire  fly 

From  a  wire  tied  to  a  pole. 
Bill  asked  the  gink,  "  Now  what  do  you  think 

You've  got?"  and  began  to  laugh, 
When  the  man  replied,  with  apparent  pride, 

"  It's  a  wireless  telegraph." 

Bill's  eyes  bulged  out  and  he  looked  about 

To  see  how  the  thing  was  made, 
Then  uttered  "  Gee !  —  that's  the  dope  for  me  " 

And  he  struck  the  guy  for  a  trade. 
The  man  said,  "  Well,  I  don't  want  to  sell, 

But  I'll  tell  you  what  I  know: 
I  can  get  you  one,  if  you  want  it  done 

For  a  hundred  bucks  or  so." 

8? 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Bill  said,  "  All  right,  you  can  order  tonight, 

The  machine  you  think  is  best 
For  my  use  on  the  Blue,  and  I'll  leave  it  to  you, 

To  start  it  and  give  it  a  test." 
So  the  deal  was  closed  and  William  dozed, 

That  night  in  a  fitful  dream, 
Of  a  message  sent  by  the  President 

Commending  his  "  wireless  scheme." 

Then  the  instrument  came,  but  to  put  up  the  same, 

The  wire  was  not  half  enough, 
So  to  cut  the  expense,  Bill  tore  down  the  fence 

And  strung  it  from  bluff  to  bluff. 
The  aerials  hung  from  the  barbed  wire  swung 

From  a  crag  on  the  canyon  wall, 
And  the  transmitter  set  on  the  table  to  let 

Sir  William  send  out  his  first  call. 

Then  William  was  taught  by  the  hombre  that  bought 

The  outfit  and  each  made  a  try, 
With  the  thing  on  his  ear  in  an  effort  to  hear 

Some  message  that  lurked  in  the  sky. 
Then  each  one  heard  and  his  pulse  was  stirred 

As  the  message  was  heard  again, 
An  SOS  from  a  ship  in  distress 

Somewhere  off  the  Coast  of  Maine. 

Then  an  officer  called  to  a  truck  that  was  stalled 

Somewhere  on  the  Rio  Grande, 
To  rush  on  the  screens  for  cleaning  the  beans, 

As  the  soldiers  were  foundered  on  sand. 
88 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Then  Southampton  asked  a  warship  that  passed 

Off  the  Coast  of  the  Isle  so  Green, 
To  keep  a  lookout  as  she  coasted  about 

For  a  German  submarine. 

"  She's  a  grand  success,"  said  Bill,  "  and  I  guess 

I  can  talk  now  when  I  please, 
And  the  floods  can  roar,  past  the  Station  door 

While  I  sit  and  take  my  ease. 
'Stead  of  slipping  my  joints,  climbing  high  points 

In  an  effort  to  get  to  town, 
Whether  daylight  or  dark,  I'll  tick  off  a  spark 

And  flash  my  message  down. 

"  And  the  trail  be  blowed  when  I  master  this  code 

And  can  talk  with  average  speed, 
Then  an  aeroplane  to  pack  in  my  grain 
^  Will  be  about  all  I  need." 
So  week  in  and  week  out,  Bill  ambled  about 

Absorbed  in  a  wireless  book, 

While  his  dear,  loving  spouse,  slipped  about  thru  the 
house 

With  a  lonesome  and  far  away  look. 

When  she'd  cooked  up  a  meal,  she  would  quietly 

steal 

To  the  door  and  peek  thru  a  crack, 
When  Bill  at  the  stand,  with  the  ticker  in  hand, 

Would  frantically  motion  her  back. 
As  midnight   drew   near,   she   would   call   to   him 

"  Dear, 

Can't  you  come  and  cat  supper  now  please  ?  " 
80 


The  Forest  Ranger 


And  he'd  answer,  "  Yes,  Hun,   I  am  pretty  near 

done," 
But  he'd  keep  right  on  thumping  the  keys. 

Then  a  message  he  sent,  across  the  whole  continent, 

Which  was  copied  at  length  by  the  press, 
He  was  given  much  praise,  for  his  wireless  craze, 

And  the  venture  pronounced  a  success. 
Bill's  dream  has  come  true,  and  the  far  away  Blue 

Seems  now  just  over  the  hill, 
And  the  bright  little  spark  that  you  see  after  dark 

Is  a  message  from  "  Wireless  Bill." 

—  James  H.  Sizer 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  BUSY  RANGER 

Under  the  spreading  pfnyon  tree 

The  Ranger  Station  stands; 
The  Ranger,  a  busy  man  is  he, 

With  Economy  and  Working  Plans, 
And  the  many  things  he  ought  to  do 

Far  more  than  fill  his  hands. 

His  form  is  lean  and  lank  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan, 
His  brow  is  wet  with  bloody  sweat, 

He  does  whate'er  he  can, 
He  looks  the  User  in  the  face, 

And  owes  not  any  man. 

Hour  in,  hour  out,  from  morn  till  night, 

You  can  hear  his  Oliver  go, 
You  can  hear  him  pound  the  keyboard  black, 

With  measured  pound  and  slow, 
Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell, 

When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  Station  door, 
They  love  to  see  the  Ranger  man, 

And  hear  the  Ranger  roar, 
And  catch  his  burning  words  that  fly, 

Like  chaff,  from  the  Station  door. 
91 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Working  —  planning  —  economizing  — 
Thus  through  the  year  he  goes; 

Each  quarter  sees  a  new  plan  begun, 
Each  quarter  sees  its  close. 

A  whole  lot  planned,  and  some  of  it  done, 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

—  J.  D.  G. 


The  Forest  Ranger 


QUITTING  TIME 

The  fire  guard  stood  on  the  lookout, 
The  ranger  stood  on  the  ground  ; 

Said  the  fire  guard  to  the  ranger, 

"  Do  we  quit  when  the  sun  goes  down  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  forest  ranger, 

"  We  work  until  it's  dark." 
"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  the  fire  guard, 

"  I'll  take  my  time  and  start. 

"  I'll  travel  the  wide  world  over, 
I'll  roam  from  town  to  town, 

Until  I  find  a  forest  ranger 
Who  will  quit  when  the  sun  goes  down," 


93 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  RANGER'S  THANKSGIVING  HYMN 

O  Lord: 

I  don't  know  where  your  office  is, 
Or  what  your  office  hours  may  be  — 
I  doubt  you  ever  topped  a  bronc; 
I  think  you  never  marked  a  tree. 
Perhaps  you  never  fixed  a  phone, 
Perhaps  you  never  rode  to  smoke  — 
You  may  perhaps  have  worked  alone  — • 
But  was  you  ever  downright  broke  ? 

I  don't  know  where  your  office  is,  < 
Or  how  you  stand  with  Washington, 
How  long  you  worked  without  a  raise, 
Or  if  you  think  wet  snow  is  fun. 
Our  phone  line's  up  and  working  now, 
O  Lord  —  the  stock  is  off  the  range. 
The  Station  roof  ain't  leaking  now 

0  Lord  —  my  pocket's  got  some  change. 

The  snow  is  coming  every  night; 
There  ain't  no  smoke  and  fire  to  dream ; 
The  brush  is  burning  slow  and  right; 
I've  picked  the  horse  to  make  my  team, 

1  hear  a  raise  is  coming  thru' ; 

I've  plenty  —  not  too  much  —  to  do. 

O  Lord  —  if  things  is  right  in  District  Three, 

The  D.  F.  can  thank  the  Supe  and  ME. —  Amen. 


94 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FIRE  FOOL 

(With  apologies  to  Rudyard  Kipling.) 

A  fool  there  was  and  he  flung  a  match, 
Even  as  you  and  I, 
Carelessly  down  on  a  sun-dried  patch, 
Giving  no  heed  that  a  fire  might  catch 
And  spread  to  the  timber  with  quick  dispatch, 
Even  as  you  and   I. 

The  fool  passed  on  with  wondering  look, 
Even  as  you  and  I, 
He  couldn't  explain  the  fire  that  took 
The  forest  away,  and  dried  the  brook, 
And  left  the  region  a  place  forsook, 
He  was  a  fool  —  that's  why. 

—  A.  G.  Jackson 


95 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FOREST  LOAFER 

The  Forest  Ranger's  life  is  joy, 

His  days  are  spent  in  play, 
His  weeks  are  fun  without  alloy; 

His  months  one  happy  roun-de-lay, 
But  just  to  keep  himself  in  trim 

He  works  a  bit  each  day. 

Monday  sees  a  mile  of  trail 

Blocked  by  a  landslide's  fall. 
He  mends  a  couple  of  bridges  frail, 

And  cuts  the  grade  on  the  canyon  wall. 
But  aside  from  putting  that  trail  in  shape, 

He  does  not  work  at  all. 

Tuesday  finds  him  full  of  sand, 

And  clean  as  a  chimney-sweep. 
He  rides  ten  miles  to  the  driveway  stand 

And  tallies  ten  thousand  head  of  sheep. 
But  seeing  this  trifling  duty  done, 

He  spends  the  day  in  sleep. 

Wednesday  morning  some  campers  came, 
Loaded  with  ignorance,  matches,  and  gall, 

Well  primed  to  set  the  forest  aflame, 
And  burn  the  timber,  straight  and  tall. 

He  trailed  them  till  they  were  safe  in  bed, 
But  otherwise  did  not  work  at  all. 

96 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Thursday  a  couple  of  thieves  he  caught 
Filing  fake  claims  to  get  the  wood. 

This  day's  work  almost  came  to  naught, 
For  they  were  friends  of  Senator  Goode. 

But  after  the  gang  was  safe  in  jail, 
He  loafed,  as  a  ranger  should. 

Friday  he  made  a  timber  sale, 

With  a  certified  check  as  security. 

He  figured  the  stand  by  the  decimal  scale, 
And  branded  U.  S.  on  every  tree. 

So,  while  he  might  have  done  some  work, 
He  passed  the  day  in  ecstasy. 

And  Saturday,  like  the  rest  of  the  week, 
He  played  at  tennis,  and  golf,  and  ball. 

He  shod  his  pony,  cleaned  the  creek, 
Burned  some  litter,  and  built  a  stall. 

But  generally  speaking,  the  livelong  day, 
He  wrote  his  reports,  that's  all. 

—  Fred  G.  Plummer 


97 


The  Forest  Ranger 


RECONNAISSANCE 

We  call  his  work  reconnaissance : 
A  shorter,  uglier  word  perchance, 
Would  better  serve  the  new  man's  use 
To  circulate  his  heartfelt  views, 
When  first  he  hits  the  higher  hills 
And  suffers  pedatory  chills. 

At  first  each  separate  "  forty  "  seems 

A  mile  across;  each  "  corner  "  gleams 

A  diamond  in  a  world  of  night : 

The  tyro  thinks:     "  This  run's  a  fright, 

I'll  never  see  the  camp  again  — 

My  Kingdom  for  an  aeroplane !  " 

His  legs  are  stiff,  his  feet  are  sore, 

He  carries  bruises  by  the  score; 

Each  day's  a  crisis  in  his  life, 

An  aeon  of  unending  strife: 

And  even  as  at  night  he  dreams, 

The  cook,  with  "  Breakfast  ready,"  screams. 

He  curses  out  the  "  rotten  chuck," 
And  figures  he's  clean  out  of  luck, 
Nurses  a  grouch  exceeding  glum 
And  wishes  he  had  never  come ; 
Like  Job,  his  last  despairing  cry : 
"  I'll  curse  the  government,  and  die!  " 

98 


The  Forest  Ranger 


But  as  the  season  wears  along 

He  finds  he's  growing  hard  and  strong, 

The  steepest  peaks  with  glee  attacks 

And  gaily,  skillfully  he  tracks 

The  elusive  contour  to  its  death, 

Nor  pauses  once  to  gasp  for  breath. 

His  attitude  is  altered  quite, 

The  work's  a  cinch,  the  world  is  bright, 

He  has  a  glance  for  towering  trees, 

For  rocks  and  streams,  the  mountain  breeze 

For  him  is  musical,  he'd  fain 

A-cruising  all  his  days  remain. 

And  when  he's  ordered  back  to  town 
And  on  some  district  settled  down, 
He'll  say:     "  This  ranger  job's  all  right, 
You  get  to  sleep  in  bed  at  night, 
But  I'd  sure  like  another  chance 
At  working  on  reconnaissance." 

—  W.  P.  Latuson 


99 


The  Forest  Ranger 


ON  CHANGING  THE  NAME  OF 
HELLGATE  1 

It  isn't  much  to  look  at  on  the  map  — 
A  ragged  stretch  of  broken  spots  of  green 
A  paltry  million  acres,  more  or  less, 
With  crooked  blanks  and  rivers  in  between. 

If  you  don't  know  where  to  look,  it's  hard  to  find ; 
And  it  isn't  anywhere  in  totals  on  the  list; 
Of  course  the  Program  names  it  with  the  rest, 
But  it  could  go  and  really  not  be  missed. 

The  name  it's  got  sounds  funny  in  the  east, 
It  earnt  it  square  enough  one  time,  I  guess, — 
It's  got  a  crooked  history  with  things  and  men; 
Amalgamated  Copper  had  the  whole  thing  leased. 

A  peevish  rustler  tried  to  burn  it  up  ; 
The  Senate  tried  to  give  it  all  away; 
Somebody  went  and  stuck  it  on  the  map, 
And  now  I  guess  it's  on  there  green  to  stay. 

But  if  you  know  the  country  up  the  Range, 
From  Beefsteak  Canyon  up  to  Tin  Cup  Joe, 
Granite  and  Wisdom  —  it's  sure  hard  to  change, 
And  get  a  new  name  for  the  works  we  know. 

—  P.  S.  Love  joy 

1  Now  the  Deerlodge  National  Forest. 
100 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  NEW  FOREST  ASSISTANT 

When  the  new-made  assistant  goes  into  the  West 
With  a  red  neckerchief,  and  a  shield  on  his  chest, 
He  must  learn  a  few  things  that  he  hasn't  half 

guessed 
Ere  he  make  a  good  forest  assistant. 

Now  all  you  collegians  appointed  next  March 
To  compute  volume  tables  of  Lodgepole  and  Larch, 
Just  lend  your  attention  and  jot  on  your  charts 
Some  advice  to  the  forest  assistant. 

First,  put  the  soft  pedal  on  "  know  it  all  "  brag; 
Don't  lay  down  on  the  job  and  rely  on  your 

"drag"; 
Have  an  eye  to  the  gent  with  the  "  snipe-bagging  " 

gag 
That  might  queer  the  young  forest  assistant. 

When  the  Fall  cruising  comes  in  the  sleet  and  the 

rain, 
And  your  side  pardner's  grouch  almost  goes  to  your 

brain, 
Just   look  to   your  compass,   and   mind   how   you 

chain, — 
That  helps  train  the  young  forest  assistant. 

When  your  "  Annie  "  is  reading  6,000  or  more, 
And  you're  blue  with  the  cold  and  wet  to  the  core, 
101 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Remember  that  others  have  been  there  before, 
And  keep  on  like  a  forest  assistant. 

When  you're  put  on  a  job  that's  some  out  of  your 

line, 

Don't  cuss  at  the  Service  and  go  to  resign, 
The  chief  knows  more  than  you,  as  you  will  soon 

find 
If  you  stick  as  a  forest  assistant. 

Get  along  with  the  men  that  you  find  on  the  job ; 
Don't  criticize  grammar,  and  set  up  for  a  snob; 
They  were  woodsmen  ere  you  learned  to  pufE  at  a 

"  cob  " 
And  wear  a  badge  like  a  forest  assistant. 

Don't  think  overmuch  of  the  old  college  days, 

Of  the  girls  that  you  knew, —  of  the  dances,  and 

plays. 

But  make  up  your  mind  that  the  trail  that  you  blaze 
Will  help  out  the  next  forest  assistant. 

—  Jack  Welch 


102 


The  Forest  Ranger 


CERCOCARPUS  * 

When  you  want  to  hit  the  pipe  now'days 
Don't  buy  one  made  of  briar,' 

For  we're  usin'  Cercocarpus 
And  it's  fine  to  hold  the  fire. 

Let  me  tell  you  how  it  happened, 
For  I'm  sure  you  ought  to  know 

That  the  price  of  briar  and  apple 
Is  too  stiff  for  poor  man's  dough. 

So  thus  we're  forced  to  sacrifice 
That  bush  that  grows  on  high, 

On  the  mountains  of  our  forests, 
Cercocarpus,  you're  to  die. 

•You  can  no  longer  rest  secure 

Upon  the  lofty  slope, 
For  cruel  man  will  cut  you  down 
That  other  men  may  smoke. 

We  are  sizin'  up  your  value  now 

To  sell  you  off  right  soon, 
For  the  Government  needs  the  money 

And  receipts  must  have  a  boom. 

So  we'll  fill  the  bowl  with  burley 
And  though  your  wood  tastes  queer, 

We  salute  you,  Cercocarpus! 
May  your  end  be  not  yet  near ! 

—  Gordon   T.  Backus 

1  A  Forest  Service  circular  letter  in  1916  stated  that  the 
plan  was  to  try  out  the  wood  of  Cercocarpus  as  a  substitute 
for  French  briar  for  pipe  bowls  and  asked  for  an  estimate 
of  the  amount  found  on  each  Forest. 
103 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  LITTLE  STILL 

Down  under  the  hill  there  is  a  little  still, 
And  the  smoke's  all  curling  to  the  sky. 

You  can  easily  tell,  by  the  sniffle  and  the  smell, 
There's  good  liquor  in  the  air  close  by. 

Oh,  it  fills  the  air,  with  a  perfume  rare, 

And  it's  only  known  to  few, 
So  turn  up  your  lip,  and  take  a  little  sip. 

Of  the  good  old  mountain  dew. 

—  Douglas  Rodman 


104 


The  Forest  Ranger 


BILTMORE  FOREST  SCHOOL 

Though  far  from  home  and  friends  we  may  roam, 
Our  hearts  with  a  longing  will  fill, 

As  our  thoughts  drift  back  to  the  little  log  shack 
And  the  good  old  moon  shine  still. 

—  James  H.  Sizer 

Apache  National  Forest. 


105 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  RANGER  MEETING 

The  Ranger  Meeting's  over,  and  we've  all  returned 

to  camp, 
And  the  wisdom  we've  imbibed  seems  to  give  our 

brains  a  cramp. 
What  we  haven't  learned  of  fires  isn't  worth  a  single 

thought ; 
And  the  fungi  and  such  tree  pests,  we  can  pick  them 

up  red  hot, 
For  we  saw  them  on  the  blackboard,   and  we've 

learned  their  every  twist, 
So  their  days  are  surely  numbered,  for  we'll  slap 

them  on  the  wrist ; 
And  that  able  word  "  efficient  "  we  can  juggle  out  of 

sight, 

For  we  saw  it  turned  and  twisted  backwards,  for 
wards,  left  and  right. 

What  we  do  not  knowr  of  timber  would  be  hard  to 

show  us  now, 
For  we   chewed   upon   this   subject   till   there   are 

wrinkles  on  our  brow. 
We  watched  it  from  the  seed  till  it  grew  a  mighty 

tree 
And  we  found  out  how  to  sell  it,  and  how  to  give  it 

free. 
We  know  just  how  to  cut  it,  lop  the  limbs  and  pile 

the  brush, 
And  when  it  comes  to  burning,  just  leave  the  job 

to  us. 
Estimating  fascinates  us  so,  we've  nearly  ceased  to 

rove, 
For  we're  busy  mapping  timber  in  our  cabins  by  the 

stove. 

106 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Now  "  Reports  "  has  been  a  subject  that  has  turned 

our  dark  hair  gray, 

But  we  put  the  kibosh  on  it  in  a  single  happy  day. 
We  know  that  an  affidavit  must  state  a  solemn  fact, 
And  not  that  "  Tom  Jones  thinks  that  Bill  stole 

Jack  Smith's  hat  " 
We  know  just  what  a  trespass  is,  and  what's  a 

squatter's  right, 
And  the  value  of  water  as  a  power  to  make  electric 

light, 
We  can  classify  even  sections  till  we  can  say  them 

off  by  rote, 
But  there's  a  few  odd  numbered  sections  that  seem  to 

get  our  goat. 

We  thought  all  there  was  to  grazing  was  to  keep  the 

stock  in  feed 
And  get  them  plenty  water,  and  all  the  salt  they 

need. 
To  see  they  do  not  tramp  the  range,  nor  stray  on 

other's  land, 
And  count- the  stock,  and  run  out  the  range,  for 

each  arid  every  band ; 
But  we  all  krtow  now  that  grazing  means  far  more 

to  us  than  that. 
We  must  grow  mpre  grass  and  browse  feed  too,  and 

get  it  on  a  map, 
Then  show  the  stockmen  how  to  grow  two  head 

instead  of  one. 
And  thus  cut  down-  the  price  of  meat,  instead  of 

with  a  gun. 

—  A.  R.  Ivey 
107 


The  Forest  Ranger 


GRIEF 

Supervisor's  detailed, 

Clerks  are  sick: 
Trains  are  derailed, 

Snow  is  thick, 

Rivers  are  up, 

Phone  lines  down, 
Rangers  on  leave, 

Grippe  in  town. 

Mail  is  behind, 

Reports  can't  go, — 
Can't  expect  things 

To  be  "  just  so." 

—  Mary  B.  Sizer 


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The  Forest  Ranger 


-      THE  SONG  OF  THE  OHMLETTE 

"  Considerable  trouble  has  been  experienced  from  time 
to  time  caused  by  insects  getting  into  telephone  boxes  and 
interfering  with  the  action  of  thte  ringer  and  generator. 
It  has  been  found  that  this  trouble  can  be  done  away  with 
to  a  large  extent  by  placing  a  moth  ball  inside  of  the  tele 
phone  box." 

—  Daily  Bulletin  of  January  5,  1916. 

My  name  is  Little  Ohmlette, 

I'm  a  busy  little  bee, 
My  home  is  in  the  telephone 

Where  I  roost  on  the  battery. 

I'm  a  very  little  insect, 

No  larger  than  a  pin  — 
But  when  I  flit  from  coil  to  bell 

I  make  an  awful  din. 

I  love  to  ride  the  armature 

And  listen  to  the  sound, 
For  when  they  turn  the  crank  outside 

It  spins  me  all  around. 

It's  fine  inside  the  generator 

And  in  the  transmitter  too, 
But  when  the  ranger  tries  to  talk 

The  air  gets  awfully  blue. 

I  was  a  happy  little  bug      ' 
But  my  joy  has  gone  away, 
109 


The  Forest  Ranger 


For  these  words  came  o'er  the  wire 
That  make  me  want  to  pray : 

"  I'm  sending  you  some  moth  balls, 

Use  freely  in  your  phone, 
We'll  make  that  Little  Ohmlette 

Vamoose  his  happy  home." 

I'm  a  sickly  Little  Ohmlette  now, 
And  my  breath  is  coming  slow, 

For  I'm  roosting  near  a  moth  ball 
That  the  ranger  placed  below. 

But  when  I  die  and  my  body  clogs 

The  wheels  that  go  around, 
I  hope  that  ranger  breaks  his  arm 

And  never  gets  a  sound ! 

—  Gordon  T.  Backus 


1 10 


The  Forest  Ranger 


IF 

If  you  can  toss  a  match  into  a  clearing, 

And  never  give  a  thought  to  put  it  out, 

Or  drop  your  cigarette  butt  without  fearing 

That  flames  may  kindle  in  the  leaves  about ; 

If  you  can  knock  the  ashes  from  your  brier, 

Without  a  glance  to  see  where  they  may  fall, 

And  later  find  the  forest  all  afire, 

Where  you  have  passed  —  with  no  one  near  to  call ; 

If  you  can  drive  your  auto  through  the  cutting 

And  cast  your  stogie  stub  into  the  slash, 

Unmindful  of  the  danger  therein  lurking, 

Or  homes  and  happiness  that  you  may  smash ; 

If  you  can  leave  your  campfire  while  'tis  glowing, 

No  thought  of  industries  that  it  may  blight, 

Or  of  the  billion  saplings  in  the  growing, 

Turned  into  charcoal  ere  the  coming  night; 

If  you  can  start  a  fire  beneath  a  brush  pile 

When  the  wind  is  roaring  like  a  distant  gun, 

You  surely  should  be  shot  without  a  trial  — 

And  what  is  more,  you'll  be  a  fool,  my  son. 

—  Harris  A.  Reynolds 


III 


The  Forest  Ranger 


FOREST  RANGER'S  SONG 

What  do  you  know  in  your  dim  proud  cities 
Of  the  world  God  made  when  God  was  young? 
Have  you  ever  lain  by  the  limbs  of  nature 
Or  slept  to  the  songs  she  has  made  and  sung? 

Have  you  ever  visioned  the  face  of  nature 
Or  fathomed  the  heart  of  the  living  God; 
You  in  your  sterile,  dull-hued  dungeons 
Treading  the  stones  your  fathers  trod? 

Freshen  your  lives  in  the  forest  olden ! 

Life  is  the  only  thing  we  own  ; 

And  Time  is  the  tool  that  shapes  and  fashions 

A  soul  of  worth  from  a  thing  unknown; 

And  Time  is  ours  in  the  forest  olden, 
Time  to  listen  and  time  to  dream ; 
And  Time  to  smile  to  each  bird  that  flutters, 
And  Time  to  talk  to  each  tumbling  stream. 

For  we've  given  our  hearts  to  the  ancient  forest, 
To  the  stalwart  pines  and  the  sweetheart  flowers, 
To  the  winds  that  sing  and  the  showers  that  sweeten 
The  marching  months  and  the  hurrying  hours. 

The  long  trails  flee  from  our  horses'  hoof  beats ; 
A  high-horned  saddle  between  our  knees  — 
Bright  peaks  touched  by  the  lips  of  heaven  — 
Silence  deep  in  the  sentinel  trees  — 
112 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Dawn!  and  the  world  is  a  morning  glory, 
Day!  and  the  world  is  a  shining  sword, 
Birds  glint  by  like  a  thousand  jewels 
Out  of  a  golden  chalice  poured. 

Evening  comes ;  and  a  glowing  campfire, 
Wind  in  the  branches  sighs  and  sings, 
Stars  on  guard  and  the  night  for  cover  — 
Mine  is  a  couch  too  good  for  kings. 

Ah,  what  do  you  in  your  dingy  cities 
Know  of  the  heart  of  the  world  God  made ; 
Of  the  woods  and  the  wild  in  the  windy  open, 
And  the  shine  of  the  leaves  in  a  sudden  glade. 

And  the  last  white  tent  of  the  Forest  Ranger, 
Where  the  flame  of  a  welcoming  campfire  gleams 
At  the  end  of  the  trail  when  life  is  over, 
And  Death  awaits  with  his  gift  of  dreams? 

—  W.  P.  Laws  on 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  PRODIGAL 

I  was  tired  of  the  silence  and  grandeur, 
Of  the  solemn,  unchanging  hills, 
Where  the  only  echo  of  music 
Was  the  splashing  of  mountain  rills 
I  heard  in  my  dreams  in  the  cabin, 
Lonely,  and  lonesome,  alone, 
The  hum  of  the  far-away  cities 
Insistently  calling  me  home. 

I  dreamed  of  the  restaurants  and  dancing, 

The  avenues'  pomp  and  display, 

The  whir  of  six-cylinder  autos, 

The  lights  on  the  lighted  way. 

The  stillness ;  the  gloom  of  the  fir  trees 

Obsessed  and  oppressed  me  the  more 

As  I  thought  of  waste  years  in  the  backwoods 

Which  the  future  could  never  restore. 

Then  I  threw  up  my  job  in  the  Service, 
Pulled  stakes  and  trekked  back  to  the  towns: 
Turned  in  my  badge  and  my  transit; 
Turned  my  back  on  my  daily  rounds. 
The  restless  go-fever  was  on  me, 
I  wanted  a  change  —  which  I  found, 
For  I  landed  a  place  in  an  office 
With  a  shaky  typewriter  to  pound. 

Now  I  dream  in  a  twenty-tier  building 
Of  the  men  and  the  days  back  there ; 
The  work  that  was  always  man's  work  — 
The  tang  of  the  mountain  air. 
114 


The  Forest  Ranger 


These  are  pretty  good  fellows 

As  men  in  the  cities  go ; 

But  those  clear-eyed,  weather-bronzed  rangers 

Are  the  sort  I'd  rather  know. 

My  muscles  are  loose  and  lazy; 

Tobacco  tastes  bitter  and  stale. 

Lord,  it  was  good  on  the  hazy, 

Damp  days  on  the  Darrington  trail! 

The  fire  glows  again  by  the  river, 

The  horse-bells  tinkle  at  night, 

The  packer  comes  up  with  the  mail  sack  — 

(Which  weighs  altogether  too  light.) 

I've  learned  as  naught  else  could  have  taught  me 

The  depth  and  the  breadth  of  it  all  ; 

That  a  "  snap  "  isn't  just  what  I  thought  it; 

That  the  payment  is  petty  and  small. 

Not  in  money,  perhaps,  but  in  pleasure, 

Satisfaction  in  work  well  done; 

The  thought  that  you've  given  full  measure 

Counts  more  than  cash  easily  won. 

So  I  think  I'll  go  back  to  the  Service; 
I'm  sick  of  this  routine  work. 
The  monotony's  driving  me  loco; 
I  wasn't  cut  out  for  a  clerk. 
Out  there  where  the  Rangers  are  waiting; 
Out  there  where  life's  really  worth  while; 
Out  there  in  the  limitless  open; 
There's  a  job  that  is  more  to  my  style. 

—  Jack  Welch 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  BUSY  SEASON 

There's  many  a  crooked,  rocky  trail, 
That  we'd  like  all  straight  and  free, 

There's  many  a  mile  of  forest  aisle, 
Where  a  fire  sign  ought  to  be. 

There's  many  a  pine  tree  on  the  hills, 
In  sooth,  they  are  tall  and  straight, 

But  what  we  want  to  know  is  this, — 
What  will  they  estimate? 

There's  many  a  cow-brute  on  the  range, 

And  her  life  is  wild  and  free, 
But  can  she  look  at  you  and  say, 

She's  paid  the  grazing  fee? 

All  this  and  more, —  it's  up  to  us  — 

And  say,  boys,  Can  we  do  it? 
I  have  but  just  three  words  to  say, 

And  they  are  these :     "  TAKE  TO  IT." 
—  Aldo  Leopold 


116 


The  Forest  Ranger 


WHEN  WINTER  COMES  AROUND 

The  summer  now  is  nearly  o'er; 

Thank  goodness  I've  come  through, 

And  kept  my  record  pretty  good 

For  the  work  I  had  to  do. 

For  a  ranger's  life's  no  bed  of  ease 

And  troubles  many  are  found, 

So  that's  the  reason  I  welcome  the  time 

When  winter  comes  around. 

When  the  fires  were  raging  fiercest 
And  half  dead  from  want  of  sleep, 
I've  thought  about  the  winter  time 
When  the  snow  lies  white  and  deep. 
And  when  saddle-sore  and  weary, 
I've  hugged  the  cold  hard  ground, 
I've  thought  of  comforts  coming 
When  winter  comes  around* 


When  after  a  hard  day's  work  afield 
I've  sat  through  half  the  night 
To  make  those  overdue  reports 
Sound  rational  and  right, 
When  my  brain  was  numb  and  weary, 
Almost  dead  to  sight  and  sound, 
I've  planned  the  office  work  I'd  do 
When  winter  comes  around. 

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The  Forest  Ranger 


O,  I'll  heat  up  this  old  Station 
When  the  nights  get  long  and  cold, 
I'll  read  and  study,  write  and  draw 
As  much  as  my  brain  will  hold. 
I'll  gain  back  again  the  flesh  I  lost 
While  on  the  summer's  round, 
My  annual  leave  I'll  also  take 
When  winter  comes  around. 

— -A.  R.  Ivcy 


118 


The  Forest  Ranger 


RECREATION 

When   the  hunting  season   opened   I   cleaned   my 

trusty  gun, 
For  my  annual  leave  was  coming  and  I  planned  to 

have  some  fun. 
I  bought  a  lot  of  cartridges  and  stuck  them  in  my 

belt, 
Loaded  up  my  pack  horse,  and  Gee,  how  proud  I 

felt! 

I  rode  up  in  a  canyon  to  a  mighty  pretty  spot, 
Found  tracks  of  deer  and  turkey  and  I  knew  I'd  get 

a  shot. 
Got  up  early  in  the  morning  in  the  frost  so  cold  and 

wet, 
And  started  out  a-hunting  to  see  what  I  could  get. 

I  struck  a  bunch  of  turkeys  and  my  old  gun  sprung 

a  leak, 
But  the  blamed  infernal  turkeys  was  a-runnin'  like 

a  streak. 

I  exploded  seven  cartridges,  a-runnin'  as  I  shot, 
But  a  little  bunch  of  feathers  was  the  only  thing  I 

got. 

Next  day  I  rimmed  a  mountain  side  for  many  weary 

miles, 
Through  brush  and  lava  boulders  thrown  up  in 

awful  piles; 

119 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Then  I  heard  the  rocks  a-rolling  down  hill  and  to 

my  right, 
And  saw  a  buck  a-runnin'  but  he  soon  was  out  of 

sight. 

The  next  four  days  I  ambled  through  timber,  brush 

and  park 
From  daylight  in  the  morning  till  sometime  after 

dark, 

Looking  very  careful  and  stepping  mighty  light, 
But  never  seeing  nothing  till  I  come  to  camp  at 

night. 

The  seventh  day,  for  breakfast,  bread  was  all  I  had 

to  eat, — 
With  a  cup  of  black  coffee,   I  sure  was  needing 

meat ; 

So  I  made  an  extra  effort  to  try  and  kill  a  buck, 
But  never  saw  nothing,  as  was  just  my  luck. 

All  the  game  had  quit  the  country  and  the  only  liv 
ing  thing 

That  was  capable  of  moving  on  either  foot  or  wing 

Was  me  and  my  two  horses;  so  I  packed  my  bed 
and  steel 

And  hiked  it  back  to  Springer  and  a  good  square 
meal. 

Though  I  got  no  deer  or  turkey,  and  my  feet  are 

bruised  and  sore 
From  walking  through  the  malpais  some  forty  miles 

or  more, 

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The  Forest  Ranger 


My  trip  was  not  all  failure  as  some  folks  may  have 

guessed, 
For  one  thing  that  I  did  get  was  a  darned  good  rest ! 

'Twas  relief  from  official  worries  and  the  regular 

daily  grind, 
And  the  high  cost  of  living  that  had  occupied  my 

mind ; 
And  I  came  back  feeling  younger  than  when  I  went 

away, 
And  I  take  a  keener  interest  in  the  business  of  the 

day. 

—  James  H.  Sizer 


The  Forest  Ranger 


TO  MY  OLD  COMRADES 

Although  I  am  tired  and  weary 
I  will  take  up  my  pen  and  write, 
As  I  think  of  those  days  in  the  Service, 
Those  days  so  busy  and  bright. 

Upon  the  screen  of  my  mem'ry 
There  flashes  the  faces  of  men 
With  the  real  red  blood  of  their  fathers, 
More  used  to  the  rifle  than  pen. 

With  a  smile  they  faced  all  the  dangers 
Of  storm,  of  flood  and  of  field, 
Nor  were  they  e'er  known  to  falter 
Or  an  inch  from  plain  duty  to  yield. 

Where  the  fire  line  was  waving  and  roaring 
There  you'd  find  them  with  shovel  and  axe ; 
There  they'd  stay  till  the  demon  was  conquered 
And  their  efforts  not  once  would  relax. 

Where  the  lofty  pine  trees  were  falling 
'Mid  the  clatter  of  axe  and  of  mill, 
There  the  lads  with  their  Decimal  scale  rule 
Were  at  work,  and  at  work  with  a  will. 

Where    the    mountains    were    tallest    and    snow- 
crowned, 

Where  the  canyons  were  deepest  and  dark, 
You  would  find  those  men  of  the  Service ; 
There  you  will  still  find  our  old  Service  mark. 

122 


The  Forest  Ranger 


They  were  hot  on  the  trail  of  the  looters 
Ever  scenting  those  men  as  their  prey, 
For  they  brought  them  to  time  in  short  order 
And  scarcely  one  e'er  got  away. 

It  may  be  I  never  shall  see  them  again, 
But  my  best  wishes  go  with  them  thro'  life, 
And  may  they  be  happy  and  prosperous  too, 
Also  good  luck  to  the  brave  Ranger  wife. 

They  say  that  heaven  is  a  beautiful  place 
With  rest,  sweet  songs,  peace  and  joys, 
But  the  thing  that  would  suit  me  down  to  the  ground 
Is  —  charge  of  God's  Forests,  and  for  Rangers  — 
these  boys. 

—  C.  C.  Hall 


123 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  PIPE  DREAM 

When  the  last  Circular  Letter  is  written,  and  the 

Supers  are  lean  and  old, 
When  the  youngest  Ranger  is  pensioned,  and  the  last 

stick  of  timber  is  sold ; 
We  shall  rest,  and  faith,  we  shall  need  to,  sit  back 

for  an  aeon  or  two, 
Till  the  Master  of  all  good  Supers  shall  send  us  new 

things  to  do. 

And  the  Supers  that  were  good  shall  be  happy ;  they 

shall  sit  and  smoke  at  their  ease; 
They  shall  run  their  Forest  as  it  suits  them,  with 

never  an  Office  to  please. 
They  shall  have  real  Rangers  to  choose  from,  honest 

and  tried  and  right; 
They  shall  dictate  from  morning  till  evening,  and 

never  be  tired  at  night. 

And  only  the  User  shall  praise  us;  and  only  the 
Nester  shall  blame, 

And  no  one  shall  work  for  money,  and  no  one  shall 
work  for  fame, 

But  each  for  the  joy  of  working,  and  each  in  his 
separate  star, 

Shall  do  the  thing  as  he  sees  it,  for  the  God  of  For 
ests  that  Are. 


124 


The  Forest  Ranger 


SPRING  HAS  CAME 

BEING  A  COMEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS 
(With  apologies  to  Ranger  Perry.) 

DRAMATIS   PERSONAE 

FOREST  RANGER  (wishing  for  Spring  to  come) 
BRUNO,  a  young  Houn  Dawg. 

ACT  I 

SCENE  I.  Sunday,  a  warm,  bright,  happy  day. 
RANGER  sitting  behind  a  pipe,  and  a  large  desk, 
in  picturesque  disarray,  on  which  are  6  stacks  of 
grazing  applications  each  I  foot  high.  Crayons, 
ink,  pencils,  gem  clips,  fire  warning  pen-wipers, 
tobacco  cans,  erasers,  blotters,  grazing  manuals, 
circulars,  pocket-knives,  and  match  stubs  scat 
tered  about  in  the  interstices.  Packages  of  Gar 
den  Seed  on  one  corner  of  the  desk,  and  a  Seed 
Catalogue  in  the  RANGER'S  pocket. 
THE  RANGER  (looking  out  of  the  window) : 

"Damn!" 

(Curtain) 

ACT  II 

SCENE  I.  Sunday,  a  warm,  bright,  thawy  day. 
RANGER,  on  the  sunny  side  of  his  jbarn,  digging 
furiously  with  a  happy  smile,  tools  scattered 
about,  packages  of  Garden  Seed  in  his  pocket. 
BRUNO  on  an  eminence  in  the  background;  look 
ing  on.  RANGER  completes  digging  of  ground, 
125 


The  Forest  Ranger 


which  is  in  a  hotbed  frame,  and  sows  many  rows 
of  seed  carefully  and  with  a  smile.  Finishes  sow 
ing,  and  stands  up. 

THE  RANGER  (happily):     "Damn!" 
BRUNO  ( Wags  tail  and  smiles  from  the  eminence 
in   the  background). 

(Curtain) 

ACT  III 

SCENE  I.  Monday,  early  morning.  A  raging  bliz 
zard.  The  snow  flies  in  whirls  and  gusts,  and  the 
wind  howls  in  the  eaves  of  the  barn,  on  the  south 
side  of  which,  on  the  sagging  tarp  which  covers 
the  hotbed,  sleeps  BRUNO,  curled  up  in  the  warm 
hole  which  he  had  to  turn  around  nine  times  to 
make.  The  wind  howls,  and  BRUNO  curls  up 
tighter. 

Enter,  THE  RANGER,  heavily  wrapped,  from  the 
house. 

THE    RANGER    (vehemently,    seeing    BRUNO)  : 
"DAMN!!!" 

(BRUNO,  scenting  the  vials  of  wrath,  retires  apol 
ogetically  to  the  eminence  in  the  background, 
where  he  reluctantly  sits  down  in  the  cold  snow, 
slowly  wagging  his  tail.  THE  RANGER  looks 
long  and  sadly  at  the  hotbed;  then  turns  to 
BRUNO.) 

(Curtain) 

THE   END 

126 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  DIARY  AND  THE  REFLECTION 

I've  jammed  the  heater  full  o'  wood 

To  hear  the  spruce  a-crackling, 
I've  shoved  the  cayuse  all  the  hay 

He  ever  will  be  tackling, 
I've  swept  the  floor  tonight  once  more 

And  folded  up  Old  Glory; 
So  now  I  guess  I'll  get  my  pipe 

And  write  the  whole  day's  story. 


"  I've  run  two  miles  of  line  today 

To  estimate  some  timber 
Upon  the  claim  of  Harry  Sloan  — " 

By  heck !  it  makes  me  limber 
To  cuss  my  way  through  brush  and  bay 

And  spruce  that's  just  like  cat's  claws; 
But  then  I  guess  I'd  mind  it  less 

If  not  so  plumb  monotonous. 

This  June  eleventh  work  I  think 

Would  hit  me  best  in  summer, 
If  fire  fighting  were  postponed 

Or  a  forgotten  number. 
Improvement  work  is  what  I  want  — 

To  build  new  trails  and  bridges, 
And  plant  the  lookout  cabins  on 

The  blooming  mountain  ridges. 

127 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Run  out  a  telephone  or  two 

And  cut  the  poles  for  lines; 
Split  rails  for  fences  all  the  day 

From  good  old  straight  white  pines. 
That  is  the  kind  of  work  I  want  — 

It  keeps  my  blood  from  crawling, 
No  matter  how  much  sleet  or  snow 

Or  how  the  wind's  a-blowing. 

No,  give  me  no  more  claims,  I  say, 

The  stuff  is  not  my  liking. 
If  they  come  pouring  in  this  way 

You're  apt  to  see  me  hiking. 
Bring  out  with  you  a  guard  or  two 

To  do  this  muskey  sprawling, 
And  give  me  some  improvement  work, 

To  keep  my  blood  from  crawling. 

—  /.  A.  Larsen 


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The  Forest  Ranger 


ON  THE  GUNNISON 

Ten  thousand  feet  above  the  sea 
The  ranger  trims  a  dead  pine  tree, 
Then  from  his  bulging  saddle  sacks 
He  takes  a  tiny  box  of  tacks, 
A  fire  notice,  two  or  three, 
He  posts  with  great  celerity. 
From  here  he  climbs  the  highest  peak, 
The  reader  wonders,  what  to  seek. 

He  has  to  gather  Red  Spruce  seed, 
Then  hunts  two  hours  for  poison  weed. 
The  weeds  are  pressed  right  in  his  book, 
Accompanied  with  a  disgusted  look. 
The  snow  scale  next  is  in  his  line, 
But  can  he  really  spare  the  time  ? 
For  before  he  gets  back  to  his  shack 
He  adds  a  black  bear  to  his  pack. 


Next  comes  the  streams,  at  every  fall 
He  gauges  them  both  big  and  small. 
The  temperature  he  sure  must  take, 
And  sound  the  depth  of  every  lake. 
Six  Newhouse  No.  4/s, 
Sent  newly  from  the  Ogden  stores, 
Are  baited  up  with  Funston's  bait, 
And  off  he  goes,  ten  days  to  wait. 

129 


The  Forest  Ranger 


With  the  30-30-  from  his  back 
He  drops  a  coyote  in  his  track, 
Amid  the  snow,  the  rain  and  hail, 
He's  got  to  hack  and  clear  a  trail. 
The  fire  box  he  builds  at  night, 
The  tools  within  are  none  too  light. 
At  one  A.  M.  he  reads  his  mail, 
And  with  grub  and  bed  he  hits  the  trail. 
—  H.  L.  Thackwell 


130 


The  Forest  Ranger 


LEAP  YEAR  AT  A  RANGER  STATION 

The  life  of  a  Ranger  is  not  so  hard, 

If  only  he  had  a  feminine  "  pard," 

But  to  come  in  when  the  house  is  cold 

And  find  no  one  in  his  arms  to  fold, 

Is  very  discouraging,  to  say  the  least, 

And  he  condemns  his  life  for  that  of  a  beast. 

Many  of  us  have  let  the  chance  slip  by, 

And  doubtless  the  maidens  have  wondered  why. 

In  1912  the  proposing  will  turn 

And  we  pray  that  their  hearts  will  no  longer  yearn, 

For  our  Station  is  furnished  and  food  prepared 

For  someone  with  whom  it  can  be  shared. 

Although  we  are  away  all  through  the  day 
We'll  hurry  home  to  greet  dear  May, 
And  when  the  evening  work  is  done 
We'll  take  a  walk  by  the  setting  sun, 
And  continue  the  journey  into  the  night, 
Then  escort  her  home  by  the  pale  moonlight. 

Now  "  Fair  Ones  "  do  not  think  us  bold, 

For  this  is  Leap  Year  so  we  are  told, 

And  our  bashful  soul  and  busy  mind 

Have  kept  us  from  acquiring  one  of  your  kind, 

Now  it's  hoped  some  maid  will  seize  the  chance 

And  relieve  us  from  this  awful  trance. 

—  /.  F.  Forsythe 


The  Forest  Ranger 


REMEMBER  THE  ALAMO 

Under  a  burning  southern  sun 

Bathed  in  the  desert's  glow, 

By  the  white  sands  queer  and  the  lime  cliffs  drear 

Lies  the  land  of  the  Alamo. 

The  names  of  Bowie  and  Crockett, 
Those  men  of  long  ago, 
Are  linked  with  the  quaint  historic  name  — 
The  name  of  the  Alamo. 

Their  deeds  have  been  told  in  every  clime, 
Wherever  the  white  race  go  ; 
All  praise  to  the  heroes  of  other  days, 
These  men  of  the  Alamo. 

I  tell  of  men  as  stanch  a  breed 
As  any  that  e'er  faced  foe, 
The  Forest  men  of  modern  days  — 
The  men  of  the  Alamo. 

Then  here's  to  Jim  and  his  six-gun  grim 
And  the  rangers  along  the  Cuevo, 
For  they  turned  the  trick  in  a  manner  slick 
These  men  of  the  Alamo. 

Then  fill  your  glasses  up  to  the  brim 
With  water  as  pure  as  snow, 
And  drink  to  these  men  "  behind  the  guns  " 
And  — "  REMEMBER  THE  ALAMO." 

—  C.  C.  Hall 
132 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  HOOK 

Nobody  works  but  the  hook-worm ; 

He  gnaws  around  all  day; 
Puts  such  an  edge  on  our  appetites 

That  we  eat  bottle-glass  and  clay. 

The  Super,  he's  got  glanders; 

The  Dep.  with  fever  is  shook; 
Nobody  smiles  at  this  place 

But  the  blamed  old  hook. 

The  Rangers  they  just  crawl  about 

In  the  heat  of  a  tropic  sun ; 
The  hook-worm,  he  works  all  the  time  — 

The  son-of-a-gun ! 

When  we're  dead  or  fired, 

Put  this  down  in  your  book  — 
"  They  did  their  level  damndest, 
Till  they  got  the  hook." 

—  I.  F.  Eldredge 
Florida  National  Forest. 


133 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  SPASM  FROM  THE  SHASTA 

The  men  of  Shasta  at  Ash  Creek  abound, 
Doing   reconnaissance  on   snow-shoes   all   the   day 

round. 

Two  men  to  the  section  no  matter  how  far, 
And  they  complete  one  each  day,  for  that's  their 

rate  at  par. 

Sometimes  the  shoeing  is  not  of  the  best, 
And  they  come  in  at  night  longing  for  rest. 

Hardships  we  have  plenty  and  short  trips  are  few, 
But  we  hired  out  for  tough  men,  so  I  guess  we'll 

pull  through. 

It's  surprising  how  simple  the  corners  are  found, 
By  us  MEN  of  the  Shasta,  the  ones  of  renown. 

And  the  way  we  can  guess  the  diameters  per  tree, 
And  the  number  of  logs  that  some  day  there'll  be, 
Is  wonderful  to  those  who  come  out  and  see 
The  men  of  the  Shasta ! 


The  work  it  is  pleasant,  if  the  hill's  not  steep, 
As  one  sometimes  may  slip,  and  fall  on  his  seat. 

Shoeing  up  some  hills  at  times  is  most  slow, 
But  when  you  come  down,  why  the  way  you  will  go ! 

Good  cooking  and  dainties  have  been  strangers 

to  us, 
But  when  we  hit  town,  we'll  eat  till  we  bust. 

On  amateur  batches  of  food  we  exist, 
And  our  stomachs  right  now  pine  pitch  could  digest, 

134 


The  Forest  Ranger 


But  beyond  these  few  trifles,  we've  proved  with 

delight, 
That  reconnaissance  on  snow-shoes  is  practical,  all 

right. 
Other  Forests  did  scoff  and  were  against  our  great 

plans, 
But  their   ignorance  should   be   pardoned   as  they 

can't  understand 

What  a  tough  little  bunch  our  Super  had  on  hand, 
The  men  of  the  Shasta! 


135 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  QUIVER  FROM  THE  TAHOE 

The  depth  of  snow  on  Shasta's  hills 

In  Shasta's  men  great  fear  instills; 
When  out  they  go  to  count  the  trees, 

They  take  with  them  their  twelve  foot  skis, 
Or  lacking  skill  with  these  to  tread, 

They  get  the  humble  webs  instead. 
Treading  hard,  a  square  a  day, 

They  scale  the  trees  upon  their  way, 
And  out  through  all  the  District  wide 

They  scatter  broad  their  smiles  of  pride, 
Say  they've  done  what  ne'er  'd  been  planned 

On  any  Forest  in  this  wide  land. 
Within  a  rod  they  pace  a  mile 

And  find  all  corners,  and  then  they  smile ! 
With  D.  B.  H.  and  logs  per  tree, 

They  get  the  volume  one,  two,  three. 
Faint  and  worn,  with  hunger  scant 

Up  those  hills  they  have  to  pant; 
Their  grub's  no  good  —  they  gladly  dine 

On  such  poor  fare  as  bad  pitch  pine, 
"  Those  men  of  the  Shasta." 

But  further  south  they  manage  to  do 

Without  the  aid  of  ski  or  shoe ; 
With  cowhide  boot  our  Tahoe  treads 

O'er  snow  that  Shasta  fears  and  dreads; 
Cold  feet  at  night  are  not  the  kind, 

On  other  forests  you  often  find. 

136 


The  Forest  Ranger 


We  count  the  seedlings,  we  caliper  brush, 

Correct  the  geology  in  all  the  slush, 
We  see  each  sapling  covered  with  snow, 

And  carefully  figure  how  fast  'twill  grow. 
We  examine  the  soil,  and  number  the  stock 

That  will  feed  and  fatten  on  each  tract  o'  rock. 
Our  cooking's  the  best,  you'll  understand, 

For  each  of  our  boys  is  a  dextrous  hand 
At  all  the  things,  from  H — 1  to  Heaven 

Found  in  our  Bible,  Page  27  — 
The  men  of  the  Tahoe. 


137 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  MUSING  FROM  THE  ANGELES 

The  growth  of  chaparral  on  Angeles  hills 

A  loss  of  religion  in  our  men  instils. 
When  off  he  goes  —  unfortunate  gink  — 

With  never  a  drop  (of  water)  to  drink. 
For  what  cares  he  for  hill  or  glade! 

John  Jones'  homestead  must  be  surveyed. 
No  matter  if  that  homestead  lies, 

Deeply  buried  from  human  eyes 
On  trackless  waste  of  desert  dim, 

Or  stands  on  end,  a  hillside  grim. 
His  back  grows  stiff,  his  knees  grow  lame, 

But  the  Angeles  Ranger  sure  is  game; 
And  he  sings  to  himself  as  he  grubs  along 

The  words  of  that  old  familiar  song: 
"  Every  day'll  be  Sunday,  by  and  by." 

That  Man  on  The  Angeles. 

And  the  early  dawn  of  the  coming  day 

Will  find  him  up  and  far  away, 
With  mattocks,  picks  and  dinner  pail; 

A  "  Cholo  "  crew ;  an  impassable  trail 
And  dynamite,  two  hundred  pound 

With  which  to  move  this  'dobe  ground; 
And  a  mercy  'tis,  six  times  in  seven 

That  he  isn't  blown  to  —  well,  to  Heaven. 
Or  circled  by  crates  of  eucalypts 

His  strength  expended  in  digging  pits; 

138 


The  Forest  Ranger 


For  the  Angeles  Forest  needs  more  trees 
To  sway  in  the  Heavenly  southern  breeze. 

So  he  wields  his  mattock  'gainst  earth  and  stone, 
Whistling  meanwhile  in  an  undertone : 

"  Every  little  movement  has  a  meaning  all  its  own  " ; 
That  weary  man  on  the  Angeles. 

But  at  night  he  sits  in  his  cabin  door 

And  watches  the  kidlets  play  on  the  floor. 
For  the  Angeles  Ranger's  too  wise  a  man 

To  live  on  the  Shasta-Tahoe  plan ; 
And  long  ago  he  annexed  for  life 

An  excellent  cook  as  his  wedded  wife. 
He  scents  the  coming  of  good  things  to  eat 

Through  the  open  door  of  the  kitchen  neat. 
And  he  lifts  his  eyes  to  skyline  dim 

Where  snow-capped  peaks  seem  to  frown  at  him ; 
And  he  thinks  with  joy  as  he  goes  to  dine: 

"  No  snow-shoes  or  skis  for  me  and  mine, 
WTith  any  other  man  under  Heaven's  dome 

I  wouldn't  change  places ;  '  There's  no  place  like 
home/ 

If  that  home  be  on  The  Angeles!  " 


139 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  BRANDING  OF  THE  FORESTS 

(On  July  i,  1908,  most  of  the  National  Forests  were  given 
new  names.) 

Come  and  listen  to  my  story,  all  ye  Forest  Service 

men: 
Once  the  Forester  was  sitting  in  his  spacious,  lofty 

den, 
And  he  wiped  his  sweating  forehead  as  he  grabbed 

his  stubby  pen, 
And  he  swore  by  all  things  sacred  that  he'd  name 

'em,  there  and  then. 

So  he  punched  a  handy  button  and  the  messengers 

they  came, 
Like  a  bunch  of  baseball  rooters,  when  the  umpire 

hollers  "  Game." 
And  he  sent  this  word  to  each  one  of  his  tried  and 

trusty  lads: 
"  This  day  we'll  have  a  christening;  come  and  make 

believe  you're  dads." 
"  Make  'em  short,  and  make  'em  simple,"  was  the 

edict  of  the  Chief. 
"  Chop  'em  down  to  small  dimensions,  like  a  goat's 

tail  —  short  and  brief." 
"  No  two  deckers  —  no  sky  scrapers.     One  word 

only,  nothing  more." 
And  the  workers  murmured  gently,  whispered  low 

—  and  softly  swore. 

So  they  gathered  in  that  aerie  where  the  Chieftain 

sits  in  state, 
And    they    puzzled,    and    they    foozled,    and    each 

scratched  his  aching  pate. 
140 


The  Forest  Ranger 


And  they  cut  'em,  and  they  slashed  'em,  and  they 

changed  those  names  about. 
Oh,  they  placed  them  endways  —  sideways,  and  they 

turned  them  inside  out. 

They  hunted  through  the  legends  of  the  heroes  — 

young  and  old. 
They  delved  into  the  records  of  explorers  brave  and 

bold. 
They  searched  for  names  of  Indians,  and  of  patriots 

so  great, 
And  they  studied  o'er  the  doings  of  the  big  men  of 

the  state. 

So,  after  weeks  of  planning,  and  of  scheming  deep 
and  dark, 

That  went  back  almost  into  the  days  of  Noah's  Ark, 

They  got  those  forests  branded  (sure  they  burned 
'em  good  and  deep) 

And  the  christening  was  over  —  then  the  boys  be 
gan  to  weep. 

Quoth  a  "  Super  "  from  the  Northwest,  "  'Tis  in 
deed  a  bitter  pill, 

When  these  people  on  my  Forest  ask  me,  *  Who  was 
Bonneville?'" 

To  be  forced  to  own  up,  honest,  "  You  can  search 
me  —  don't  ask  me, 

Mebbe  he's  from  o'er  the  ocean,  from  the  wilds  of 
gay  '  Paree.'  " 

Oh,   they  took  "  Ekalaka,"   "  Long  Pine,"   "  Slim 

Buttes,"  and  "  Short  Pine  "  too, 
And  they  bunched  them  up  with  "  Cave  Hills,"  then 

they  named  the  whole  thing  "  Sioux." 
141 


The  Forest  Ranger 


And  "  Tillamook  "  and  "  Umpqua,"    (names  that 

almost  broke  your  jaw) 
Why,  they've  hitched  'em  up  together  under  sibilant 

"  Siuslaw." 

From  the  far  Blue  Mountain  region  came  a  query 
hushed  and  low: 

"Which  of  the  Whitmans  is  it?  For  I'm  just 
obliged  to  know." 

Here's  a  man  who  wants  a  permit  for  to  pasture 
Baalam's  ass, 

But  he  swears  he's  'feered  to  graze  him  upon  Whit 
man's  "  Leaves  of  Grass." 

s~' 

Then  from  the  peaks  of  Idaho  there  came  a  fearful 

yell. 
You  used  to  call  it  "  Koo-ten-ai,"  but  now  'tis  "  Pen 

d'  Oreille." 
"  Hold  on  a  bit  —  perhaps  you're  wrong,"  a  ranger 

whispered  slyly, 
"  Tis  Irish,  sure  —  a  good  name;  they  call  it  plain 

1  O'Reilly.' " 

And  so  it  goes  all  o'er  the  West,  and  even  with  the 

ladies, 
This  christening  job  has  mixed  things  up  and  just 

raised  merry  Hades. 
So  take  your  time,  and  learn  the  list,  or  else  you'll 

lose  your  standing, 
And  live  to  cuss  the  fatal  day  that  saw  this  forest 

branding. 

—  Will  C.  Barnes 
14* 


The  Forest  Ranger 


RANGER  SONG  FOR  THE  NORTH 
SIERRA  RESERVE  * 

(Tune  "On  the  Road  to  Mandalay.") 

There's  a  lofty  range  of  mountains  from  Spokane  to 
Mexico, 

On  whose  slopes  the  dark  pine  forests  link  the  foot 
hills  to  the  snow, 

And  these  forests  great  are  gathered  into  many  a 
fine  reserve, 

Here's  to  ours  —  the  North  Sierra  —  she's  the  queen 
we  Rangers  serve. 

CHORUS. 

North  Sierra,  she's  our  pride; 

In  her  service  we  abide; 

For  her  pines  and   oaks  and  cedars  many  a 

rocky  mile  we  ride. 
Fighting  fires  by  night  is  play, 
As  for  mixing  sheep,  it's  gay, 
Since  'tis  for  our  North  Sierra 
That  we  love  more  every  day. 

Oh,  the  sugar  pines  hold  up  the  sky  and  keep  our 
stars  in  place; 

"  Joe  Crane's  Ramrod  "  is  the  tree  that  Mars  de 
pends  on  for  a  base; 

Great  sequoias  in  the  Nelder  Grove  to  Dinkey  seem 
to  say, 

"  Dinkey,  pass  the  word  to  Converse,  '  Don't  you 
drop  the  Milky  Way.'  " 

1  Now  called  Sierra  National  Forest. 
H3 


The  Forest  Ranger 


You  should  look  into  our  office  on  a  stormy  winter 

day 
See  our  cattle  ranger  tackle  all  the  figures  in  his 

way, 
See  our  Technical  Assistant  making  maps  to  beat 

the  band, 
Hear  the  Boss  dictating  letters,  with  Clerk  Springer 

close  at  hand. 

Tyler'll  mark  the  bounds  this  summer  of  each  priv 
ate  piece  of  land ; 
Dehl  can  blast  a  trail  that's  smooth  enough  to  suit 

a  big  brass  band; 
Mai  McLeod  will  make  the  tourists  in  Kings  River 

toe  the  mark ; 
While    beyond    the   snow-capped    summits    Britten 

notes  each  sheep-dog's  bark. 
Here's  to  those  with  us  no  longer  —  Langille,  lost 

in  Oregon ; 
Hogue    and    Ellis,    Bigelow,    Mainwaring  —  what 

gallant  spurs  they've  won. 
Here's  to  those  who  thread  the  canyons  all  along 

Sierra's  crest, 
Taylor,  Noddin,  Russell,  Wofford,  Gardner,  Rea, 

and  all  the  rest. 
Here's  to  those  who  lead  us,  captains  in  a  mighty 

service,  they, 
Earnest,  loving  helpers  wise  to  plan  and  choose  our 

climbing  way. 
Here's  to  Allen,  the  Inspector,  and  all  men  from 

Washington ; 

To  our  Great  Chief,  Gifford  Pinchot  —  he  and  For 
estry  are  one.  —  Charles  H.  Shinn 
144 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  FIRE  GUARD  ON  PATROL 

(With  apologies  to  Danny  Dcever.) 

"  What  are  the  bloomin'  boxes  1  for?  "  said  the  Fire 

Guard  on  patrol, 

"  To  drop  a  note,  to  drop  a  note,"  the  Forest  Ran 
ger  said. 
"What  makes  them  look  so  big,  so  big?  "  said  the 

Fire  Guard  on  patrol. 
"  So  they  can  hold  a  bushel  o'  notes,"  the  Forest 

Ranger  said. 
"  For  you've  got  to  ride  around,  around,  a-lookin' 

for  fires  each  day, 
You've  sure  got  to  hump  yourself,  if  you  want  to 

draw  the  pay. 
This  ain't  no  foolish  outin'  job,  so  I  heard  the  Super 

say, 
For  you've  got  to  visit  the  mail  box  every  morning." 

"  What  makes  the  country  look  so  blue?  "  said  the 

Fire  Guard  on  patrol. 
"  It's  forest  smoke,  it's  forest  smoke,"  the  Forest 

User  said. 
"  What  makes  the  Rangers  ride  so  hard  ?  "  said  the 

Fire  Guard  on  patrol, 
"  To  reach  a  fire,  to  reach  a  fire,"  the  Forest  User 

said. 

1  Boxes  placed  on  fire  patrol  routes  at  which  guards 
"  check  in  "  by  leaving  a  note  on  fire  conditions  for  the 
ranger. 

^        H5 


The  Forest  Ranger 


11  They're  fightin'  forest  fires,  they're  whfppin'  'em 

around  ; 
They're  fightin'  'em  like  devils,  they're  beatin'  'em 

to  the  ground, 
And  they'll  put  you  through  your  paces  if  they  catch 

you  loafin'  'round, 
For  you've  got  to  visit  the  mail  box  every  morning." 

"What's  that  so  black  against  the  sun?"  said  the 
Fire  Guard  on  patrol. 

"  It's  forest  fires,  you  bloomin'  it,"  the  Forest  Ran 
ger  said. 

"What's  that  that  crackles  overhead?"  said  the 
Fire  Guard  on  patrol. 

"It's  fallin'  trees,  it's  fallin'  trees,"  the  Forest  Ran 
ger  said. 

"  For  the  Forest's  goin'  up  in  smoke,  you  can  see  it 
fade  away, 

We're  all  goin'  to  jack  our  jobs,  for  we  don't  need 
the  pay  — 

Oh,  the  Fire  Guards  are  shakin',  and  they'll  get 
their  time  today, 

For  they  didn't  visit  the  mail  box  every  morning." 

—  /.  D.  (?..  . 


146 


The  Forest  Ranger 


ECONOMY 

It  started  with  the  President, 

A  year  or  two  ago, 
He  said  we  must  economize, 

To  really  make  a  show. 

He  appointed  a  committee, 

To  see  where  to  begin, 
For  Uncle  Sam's  in  poverty, 

He  really  needs  the  tin. 

His  reputation  in  the  past, 
Around  the  country  went. 

"  A  dollar  spent  to  save  ten  cents  " 
Was  money  quite  well  spent. 

But  now  a  change  is  taking  place, 

Expenses  get  the  knife. 
Economy,  economy, 

Is  the  watchword  of  our  life. 

The  word  was  handed  down  by  Taft, 
To  all  his  right  hand  men, 

And  now  it's  come  to  you  and  me, 
And  all  who  push  a  pen. 

A  meeting  in  El  Paso, 

To  talk  economy, 
Was  attended  by  the  great  Moguls, 

Of  District  Number  Three. 
147 


The  Forest  Ranger 


Now  every  one  has  had  his  say, 
And  gone  back  to  the  pines, 

We  wonder  where  we'll  get  our  pay 
Without  digging  in  the  mines. 

But  coming  back  to  serious  thought, 

And  the  toils  of  our  daily  grind, 
Efficiency,  efficiency, 

Is  the  word  to  be  kept  in  mind. 

—  Charles  H.  Jennings. 
Snowflake,  Ariz.,  191  x. 


The  Forest  Ranger 


FIRES 

The  District  Forester  Speaks: 

I  wish  I  were  out  with  the  fellows  — 

Just  my  luck  to  be  stuck  here  in  town  ; 
But  I've  got  to  sit  tight  when  I'd  heap  rather  fight 

To  help  keep  these  brush  blazes  down. 
I'm  sick  of  this  end  of  the  business, — 

The  ring  of  the  querulous  phone, 
The  telegrams,  too,  of  flames  breaking  anew 

While  I  have  to  stand  it  alone, 

And  I'll  own 

It's  hell  to  be  watching  alone. 

There's  Bill  —  he's  gone  out  with  the  pack  traiii, 

And  Jim  —  he's  to  rustle  the  grub 
For  the  men  on  the  line,  and  he's  going  it  fine 

While  I'm  sitting  here  like  a  dub; 
The  fellows  are  working  like  demons, 

They're  scorched  and  they're  blistered  —  no  less, 
While  I  stay  and  chafe  and  am  damnably  safe 

When  I'd  like  to  mix  up  in  the  mess; 

Well,  I  guess! 

That  the  buck-brush  ablaze  is  a  mess! 

In  a  swivel  chair  —  well,  it's  the  limit, 
With  the  rest  in  the  thick  of  the  fight 
With  their  lungs  all  a-choke  with  the  dust  and  the 

smoke, 

And  sweat  in  their  eyes  day  and  night  ; 
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The  Forest  Ranger 


But  I've  got  to  look  out  for  the  labor  — 

This  calling  for  troops  makes  me  sick; 
There's  none  seems  to  know  if  the  troops  ought  to 
go; 

Neither  begging  nor  blarney  nor  kick 

Brings  'em  quick, 

So  it's  no  use  to  blarney  or  kick. 

So  here  I  am  pacing  the  office, 

And  "  watchfully  waiting  "  returns 
From  lookouts  for  days  all  enveloped  in  haze 

Where  half  of  a  mountainside  burns ; 
I've  drawn  in  my  men  to  where  danger 

Is  worst  where  dry  desert  winds  go, 
And  I'll  be  in  a  hole  if  my  extra  patrol 

Can't  hold  in  the  face  of  a  blow; 

And  I  know 

They  can't  hold  in  front  of  a  blow. 

I'm  afraid  there  will  be  a  hitch  somewhere, 

There's  no  telling  where  it  will  be, 
But  I'd  rather  be  found  right  there  on  the  ground  — 

Right  out  there  to  think,  act,  and  see ! 
I  won't  care  for  second-hand  versions 

Of  how  the  disaster  befell, 

But  I'll  choose  all  the  brunt  of  the  scrap  at  the 
front, 

Instead  of  this  telephone  bell; 

And  it's  hell, 

To  depend  on  this  telephone  bell! 
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The  Forest  Ranger 


Out  there  are  my  Supers  and  Rangers, 

With  lumberjacks,  men  from  the  mills, 
From  fields  and  from  slums,  hoboes,  tie  hacks,  and 

bums, 

And  ranchers  who  know  all  the  hills ; 
While  I'm  here  with  no  smoke  in  my  nostrils, 

I  am  here  with  no  scorch  on  my  cheek, 
When  I'd  rather  be  there  with  singed  eye-brows  and 

hair 

Than  stuck  in  here  week  after  week. 
Hear  me  speak! 
I'll  be  bughouse  inside  of  a  week! 

—  Bristow  Adams 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  APACHE  RECESSIONAL 
1910 

(Apologies  to  Kipling.) 
God  of  the  Forests,  known  of  old, 
Lord  of  our  far-flung  forest  line  — 
Beneath  whose  awful  hand  we  hold 
Dominion  over  fir  and  pine  — 
Lord  God  of  Forests,  bid  us  not  tire, 
Lest  we  forget  —  the  Bear  Wallow  Fire. 
The  fighting  and  the  smoking  dies  — 
The  Captain  and  his  troops  return  — 
Still  stands  Thine  ancient  timbered  aisles, 
Once  forest  green,  now  smoking  burn. 
Lord  God  of  Forests,  bid  us  not  tire, 
Lest  we  forget  —  the  Bear  Wallow  Fire. 
Far-called  our  Rangers  ride  away  — 
On  Grey  Bull  Peak  slow  sinks  the  fire  — 
Lo,  all  our  fighters  of  yesterday 
Are  now  no  longer  worth  their  hire. 
Judge  of  the  Forests,  bid  us  not  tire, 
Lest  we  forget  —  the  Bear  Valley  Fire. 
If  drunk  writh  sight  of  power  we  loose 
Green  guards  that  hold  not  fire  in  awe  — 
Such  riding  as  the  cowmen  use 
On  Strayhorse  Creek  or  Maley  Draw  — 
Lord  God  of  Forests,  bid  us  not  tire, 
Lest  we  forget  —  the  Baldy  Fire. 
For  Ranger  hearts  that  put  their  trust 
In  asphalt   rake   and   iron  shard  — 
The  Rangers  fight  as  fight  they  must, 
And  fighting  call  not  every  guard  — 
For  heavy  rains  and  heavier  snows 
Send  down  upon  this  Forest,  Lord. 

—  J.D.  G. 
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The  Forest  Ranger 


A  ROLLING  STONE 
(Apologies  to  R.  W.  Service.) 

There's  murder  in  the  heart  of  me, 

I've  skinned  my  shins  and  knees; 

The  chiggers  are  a  part  of  me, 

My  hide  is  full  of  fleas ; 

My  youth  and  strength  I'm  squandering, 

A  ragged  wreck  am  I, 

And  I  must  keep  a-wandering 

Until  the  day  I  die. 

I  was  once,  I  declare,  on  Central  Park  West, 

In  a  comfortable  modern  cave; 
I  have  known,  I  will  swear,  in  the  last  month's  span, 

The  sweat  and  fret  of  a  slave. 
I  have  pitched  my  tent  with  no  prosy  plan 

But  to  range  and  change  at  the  will 
And  whim  of  the  head  reconnaissance  man, 

And  to  seek  adventure's  thrill. 

Carefree  to  be,  as  a  bird  that  sings ; 

To  go  on  my  own  sweet  way; 
To  reck  not  at  all  what  may  befall, 

But  to  live  and  return  each  day; 
To  scorn  all  hurt  and  to  view  the  dirt 

With  the  curious  eyes  of  a  child, 
From  the  canyon  deep  to  the  hillside  steep, 

From  Dughill  to  the  heart  of  the  wild. 
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The  Forest  Ranger 


From  the  patch  of  L  *  to  the  R  2  and  S,2 

From  the  vast  to  the  greatly  small, 
For  I  know  that  the  work  for  good  is  planned, 

And  I've  got  to  map  it  all. 
To  map  it  all  to  be  given  away 

To  the  nester's  calloused  hand, 
I  map  what  I  see,  but  "  our  policy," 

I  never  can  understand. 

And  every  night  shall  bring  to  me 

The  bugs  my  rest  to  spoil ; 

Each  morn  the  cook  will  sing  to  me 

It's  time  to  rise  and  toil ; 

And  every  throbbing  pain  of  me 

Protests  against  that  call. 

O  body,  heart  and  brain  of  me, 

Who  planned  this  job  at  all? 

—  Harry  Lawson 
Ozark  Land  Classification  —  1913. 

1  L  —  Fine  sandy  loam. 

2  RS  —  Rocky  and  steep. 


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The  Forest  Ranger 


KLAMATH  BUG  SONG 
1911-12 

(Tune:  Casey  Jones.) 

Come  all  ye  people  if  you  want  to  hear 

The  story  of  the  bug  crew  in  the  Creek  called  Clear, 

Of  a  terrible  country  and  a  long  career 

For  the  Rangers  and  Bug  Men  far  and  near. 

CHORUS  : 

We  chopped  'em  all  down, 

You  can't  find  a  beetle; 

We  bucked  'em  all  up, 

Can't  find  a  bug ; 

We  burnt  'em  up  clean, 

Can't  find  a  beetle ; 

Oh  you  can't  find  a  beetle  on  the  Big  Humbug. 

We  moved  our  camp  upon  St.  Patrick's  Day 
With  our  horses  grunting,  full  of  oats  and  hay, 
We  put  up  our  tents  by  the  candle  ray, 
And  we  ate  our  supper  when  the  dawn  was  gray. 

CHORUS: 

Francis  McCarthy  was  our  little  cook, 

And  Conover  he  took  notes  in  his  little  book, 

While  Perry  Hill  sang  like  a  crazy  crook 

About  the  moon  and  the  Irish  and  the  bugs  he  took. 

CHORUS  : 

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The  Forest  Ranger 


We  built  a  fire  in  the  middle  of  the  tent, 
She  ripped  and  roared  and  away  she  went; 
I  tell  you  fellows  that  it  ain't  no  joke 
When  your  bloomin'  old  tent  gets  full  of  smoke. 

CHORUS: 

Now  all  ye  people  when  ye  spot  a  bug, 
No  matter  if  our  crew  is  housed  up  snug, 
Just  tell  us  about  it  and  we'll  paste  his  mug, 
And  we'll  join  in  the  chorus  while  his  grave  is  dug. 

CHORUS: 

—  S.  W.  Allen 


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The  Forest  Ranger 


RECEIPT  FOR  A  RANGER 

First  get  a  big  kettle  and  a  fire  that's  hot, 
And  when  everything's  ready  throw  into  the  pot, 
A  doctor,  a  miner,  of  lawyers  a  few, 
At  least  one  sheep  herder  and  a  cow  boy  or  two. 
Next  add  a  surveyor,  and  right  after  that, 
A  man  with  horse  sense,  and  a  good  diplomat. 
At  least  one  stone  mason ;  then  give  it  a  stir, 
And  add  to  the  mess  one  good  carpenter. 

A  man  that  knows  trees,  and  don't  leave  from  the 

list 

A  telephone  man  and  a  fair  botanist. 
The  next  one  that's  added  must  be  there,  that's  a 

cinch, 

It's  the  man  that  will  stay  when  it  comes  to  a  pinch. 
Add  a  man  that  will  work,  and  not  stand  round  and 

roar, 
Who  can  do  ten  thousand  things  and  then  just  a 

few  more. 

Now  boil  it  up  well  and  skim  off  the  scum  — 
And  a  Ranger  you'll  find  in  the  residuum. 

—  J.  B.  Cammann 


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The  Forest  Ranger 


FOUR  CENTS  TO  THE  LICK 

I'm  ringing  up  Uncle  Sam's  till,  by  gad, 
With  a  hammer  and  an  eight  foot  stick, 
And  twelve  stamps  to  the  cord  of  wood 
Is  four  cents  to  the  lick. 

A  hammer  beats  a  hatchet, 

And  a  dry  pole  beats  a  tape, 

But  it's  right  down  plumb  monotonous, 

In  any  kind  of  shape. 

The  ends  don't  stick  out  even, 
And  the  ricks  is  half  fell  down ; 
It's  snowin'  and  my  feet  are  cold  — 
There's  brush  stuck  all  around. 

I'd  rather  have  a  district, 
With  a  shanty  of  my  own, 
And  beat  a  cayuse  all  around, 
And  sometimes  be  alone. 

This  everlasting  bing,  bang,  bung, 
At  four  cents  to  the  lick, 
While  profitable  to  Uncle  Sam, 
Has  blamed  near  made  me  sick. 

When  I'm  the  high-brow  super, 
Then  I  won't  give  a  damn, 
I'll  tell  the  boys  "  Put  on  more  stamps; 
It's  for  your  Uncle  Sam." 

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The  Forest  Ranger 


This  country's  far  too  healthy, 
A  man  can't  say  he's  sick  — 
It's  pretty  plumb  monotonous  — 
But  it's  four  cents  to  the  lick! 

—  P.  S.  Lovejoy 


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The  Forest  Ranger 


HIS  WISDOM 

He  didn't  know  how  to  handle  a  rod,  nor  how  to 

attach  a  fly; 
He  didn't  know  how  to  catch  a  trout  in  the  brook 

that  went  flowing  by; 
When  he  wounded  a  buck  he  didn't  know  whether 

to  run  or  stay  and  fight, 
And  he  didn't  know  how  to  make  a  temporary  camp 

at  night. 

He  didn't  know  how  to  tell  the  time  by  looking  at 

the  sun  ; 
He  didn't  know  how  to  take  the  shells  out  of  a 

loaded  gun; 
He  got  so   turned   around   he   didn't   know  what 

course  to  take, 
And  he  didn't  know  what  to  do  when  he  was  bitten 

by  a  snake. 

He  didn't  know  what  it  was  once  when  he  handled 
poison  oak; 

He  didn't  know  how  to  build  a  fire,  nor  how  to  con 
ceal  its  smoke; 

But  he  was  wise  —  of  that  fact  there  can't  be  the 
slightest  doubt. 

When  he  broke  camp  he  knew  enough  to  put  the 
fire  out ! 

—  Howard  C.  Kegley 

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The  Forest  Ranger 


PLANTING  RHYMES 

Out  in  the  sandhills,  day  after  day,  we  go 
And  plant  little  bull  pines  row  beside  row. 

Two  with  the  spades  and  one  with  a  pail, 
We  go  working  along  leaving  trees  for  a  trail. 

Carrying  the  bucket  we  take  turn  about  ; 
To  spade  all  the  time  soon  wears  a  man  out. 

When  with  noon  comes  out  little  William  H.  Mast, 
Brings  out  our  dinner  and  we  take  our  repast. 

While  we  munch  our  dry  bread  and  chew  our  bum 

meat, 
We  get  mad  and  throw  it  all  down  at  our  feet. 

We  swear  on  our  honor  that  we'll  pull  up  our  pegs 
If  they  don't  feed  us  on  better  than  hard  boiled  eggs. 

Then  goodbye  to  the  sandhills,  goodbye  old  seedbeds, 
Goodbye,  tree  planters,  and  the  rest  of  the  tow- 
heads. 

Halsey,  Nebr.,  1907. 


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THE  FELLOW  THAT  DROPT  THE 
MATCH 

Moast  anny  book  on  woodcraft  has  a  hoal  lot  on 
how  to  bild  a  camp  fire,  but  no  one  of  them  tells 
how  to  putt  it  owt  when  bilt.  This  is  the  mane 
thing  to  knoe,  &  for  lack  of  knollidge  on  this  subjict 
our  mity  forrists  dwindel  every  yere  &  git  littler 
evry  time  they  dwindel.  Enny  fool  with  a  match 
can  destroy  moar  fust  class  rale  timber  in  haff  a  day 
than  the  Yoonited  States  Forrist  Commishun  can 
proppygate  in  awl  summer.  As  the  poit  trooly  sais : 

"  He  dropt  the  match  when  he  lit  his  seegar 

&  it  fell  in  a  buntch  of  grass. 
&  then  he  went  on  to  shute  his  bar 

In  the  distant  mountain  pass; 
&  a  blaze  shot  uppard,  the  wind  it  riz, 
&  the  fire  spred  awl  over  the  patch, 
&  the  melted  pants  button  they  found  was  his  — 

The  fellow  that  dropt  the  match." 

But  retribootion  don't  always  git  the  rite  party 
—  whitch  is  a  shaim.  If  things  was  diifrunt  they 
woodent  be  the  saim.  No  troo  harted  spoartsman 
begrudges  a  few  akers  of  skrub  timber  being  burnt 
off,  so  long  as  it  dries  the  jooce  out  of  sum  sap-hed 
with  his  pokit  full  of  matches. 


162 


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THE  FOREST  PLEADERS 

(Arbor  Day  Recitation  for  Six  Pupils.) 
FIRST  PUPIL  (carrying  evergreen  branch)  : 
I  AM  THE  FOREST. 

I  clothe  this  western  land 
With  beauty,  and  on  every  hand 
You  turn  to  me  in  daily  need. 
Your  best  friend  I  have  always  stood ; 
You  could  not  live  not  using  wood. 
For  your  protection  now  I  plead. 
Nor  do  I  bid  you  take  my  word ; 
Let  these  my  witnesses  be  heard. 

SECOND  PUPIL  (carrying  pail  of  water)  : 
I  AM  THE  STREAM. 

From  my  woodland  springs 
To  river  mouth,  where  the  white  gull  wings 
Over  the  ships  from  the  ends  of  the  earth, 
I  flow  to  your  homes  and  mills  and  fields 
And  carry  the  freight  that  the  harvest  yields, 
But  shady  forests  gave  me  birth. 

THIRD  PUPIL  (carrying  pet  animal)  : 
I  AM  THE  WILD  THINGS. 
I  speak  for  graceful  deer 
And  flashing  trout  in  brook  pools  clear, 

For  singing  birds  and  squirrels  pert, 
And  all  the  wearers  of  feather  and  fur. 
What  should  we  do  if  no  forests  were 
To  shelter  us  from  fear  and  hurt? 

FOURTH  PUPIL  (carrying  ax)  : 
I  AM  INDUSTRY. 

To  me  the  forest  brings 

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The  Forest  Ranger 


Reward  for  labor  and  all  things 

That  money  buys,  for  in  this  State 
Over  half  our  wage-earners'  pay 
Comes  from  lumbering  in  some  way. 
The  fate  of  forests  is  my  fate. 

FIFTH  PUPIL  (carrying  fishing  rod)  : 
I  AM  PLEASURE. 

Happy  vacation  days, 
Camping,  hunting,  and  all  the  ways 
Of  nature  in  her  gladdest  moods, 
The  forest  holds  for  girls  and  boys 
Who  love  outdoors  and  wholesome  joys  — 
There  is  no  playground  like  the  woods. 

SIXTH  PUPIL  (strikes  match  and  holds  it  burning)  : 
I  AM  THE  FUTURE. 

Shall  all  these  pass  away? 
Must  we  look  forward  to  a  day 

Of  fire-charred,  lifeless,  streamless  slopes 
Where  thoughtless  match  or  unwatched  brand 
From  man's  ungrateful,  careless  hand 
Has  destroyed  his  own  children's  hopes? 

ALL    (FUTURE   blows  match   out,  watches  as   he 

drops  it,  then  tramps  it  out)  : 
FIRE  Is  OUR  ENEMY. 
Won't  you  help  us  then? 
Learn  yourselves,  and  teach  all  men, 

This,  the  lesson  all  must  learn, 
Put  out  the  campfire  and  the  match  ; 
Careful  with  slash  and  clearing-patch; 
Leave  no  fires  in  the  woods  to  burn. 

—  £.  T.  Allen 

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The  Forest  Ranger 


PROSPECTIN' 

Up  the  mountin'  and  thro'  the  burn 

We  climbed,  an'  mongst  the  brush  and  fern, 

An  ole  man  druve  his  maddox  home, 

An'  slapped  a  tree  in  the  gapin'  loam. 

"  Mornin',  father,  what's  the  game?  " 

"  Plantin'  trees,"  the  answer  came. 

"  You  don't  'spect  to  live  to  see 

The  standin'  timber,  do  ye,  say  ?  " 

He  looked,  reflecting  down  the  hill ; 

"  Wai,  no,  but,  thunder!  some  un  will." 

—  J,  R.  Simmons 


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EXTRACT  FROM  AN  OLD-TIME  DIARY 
OF  AN  OLD-TIME  FOREST  RANGER 

Crooked  Creek,  Arizonie, 
August  15,  1906. 
FIELD  NOTES  OF  SURVY 

Home  sted  clame  of  Bud  Brown,  Bonefido 
squater.  This  survy  was  run  and  plated  on  a 
varyation  of  9  degrez  and  75  minits  east  of  polarus 
(or  some  other  point  i  fergitwhich).  Wether  looks 
like  rane, 

This  tract  is  situwate  in  un  survyd  terytory 
whicht  when  survyd  wil  probebly  be  in  town  ship 
82  west  of  Range  3  north  of  grene  witch. 

Thar  being  no  established  corner  in  this  vasinety 
i  built  a  pile  of  stonez  4  fet  high  for  a  forrist  re- 
servez  monument,  frum  whicht  a  miskeete  tre  bears 
north  7  degrez  and  76  minits  east,  a  big  mal  pio 
rock  bears  west  27  degrez  south. 

Thense  i  run  east  20  degrez  north  48  chains  an  set 
corner  no  2  a  mal  pie  rock  set  in  the  ground  (lots  of 
other  rocks  around  but  this  one  has  blubers  onit). 
frum  whicht  a  bald  faced  cow  with  a  litle  calf  bears 
east  22  degrez  south  and  a  big  steer  going  the  other 
way  bears  west  u  degrea  north  no  other  objext 
near. 

Here  i  back  site  on  Corner  No  I  and  find  that  the 
varyation  has  changed,  so  i  precede  on  a  tru  line. 

Thense  irun  north  10  degrez  west  thru  oke  brush 
21  chains  to  deep  wash  (here  my  dog  got  after  a 
mavric  bull  so  i  quit  the  survy  and  folio  my  dog). 
August  1 6,  1906.  i  start  wher  i  quit  yesterday  and 
at  45  chains  i  set  corner  No  3  whicht  is  a  oke  stick 
set  i  ft  in  ground,  whense  a  oke  bush  bears  east, 
1 66 


The  Forest  Ranger 


and  the  left  hand  end  of  a  big  cloud  bears  a  little 
south  of  strate  up,  no  uther  objext  near. 

Thense  i  run  west  10  degrez  south  15  chains  an 
a  litle  over  to  a  high  clif  whicht  i  cant  descend,  so  i 
role  a  big  rock  off  the  clif  to  mark  my  line,  when  a 
white  tale  buck  jumped  out  of  the  oke  brush  and  i 
kilt  him  with  my  sixshuter,  (here  i  quit  the  survy 
an  packed  the  mete  to  camp).  August  18,  1906  i 
resume  this  line  at  the  foot  of  the  high  clif  wher 
my  rock  lit,  i  estermate  the  distence  to  be  a  litle  un 
der  5  chains  to  the  top  so  i  allow  i  am  now  20  chains 
frum  corner  No  3,  thense  i  run  west  10  degrez 
south  48  chains  and  set  corner  No  4  whicht  is  a  oke 
stik  set  in  a  dager  wead,  whense  a  smoke  frum  a 
forrist  fier  bears  west  46  degrez  north  about  IO 
miles,  no  uther  objext  near. 

Thense  i  run  south  20  degrez  east  n  chains  an 
15  steps  to  foot  of  high  clif  i  cant  asend,  so  i  shoot 
a  spot  on  a  rock  on  top  to  mark  my  line,  i  clime  the 
clif  at  anuther  place  an  resume  my  line,  i  estermate 
the  distance  to  be  about  5  chains  a  litle  back  of 
strate  down,  so  i  allow  i  am  not  16  chains  an  15 
steps  frum  corner  No  4.  (here  Bud  Brown  got  a 
blister  on  his  heel  an  quit  chancing,  so)  i  continue  on 
a  tru  line  733  yards  as  i  step  to  corner  No  I,  whicht 
ort  to  be  the  place  of  begining,  but  aint,  so  i  allow 
theres  some  thing  out  of  plum  an  ajust  my  sumpas 
according,  an  precede  about  200  hards  to  my  left 
and  tie  into  the  corect  corner,  and  the  place  of  begin 
ing,  contaneing  160  acres  be  the  same  more  or  les. 
BILL  CALTUTE, 

Forrist  Ranger. 

—  /.  H.  Sizer 
167 


The  Forest  Ranger 


A  FOREST  SYMPOSIUM 

The  Prelude 

To  you,  unknown,  but  of  genial  pen 
A  "  suping  super  "  laughs  his  loud  Amen ! 
You  have  me  spotted  mighty  clear  and  fine  — 
Those  orders  to  a  ranger  might  be  mine. 
Now,  though  my  verses  are  not  meant  for  curt, 
Just  let  some  ranger,  used  to  axe  and  quirt, 
Sling  out  his  facts,  no  matter  where  they  hurt. 
You  men  we  love,  this  sympo'  isn't  done. 
Chip  in,  you  men  behind  the  Forest  Gun. 
Then  let  our  wives,  who  put  out  fires  too, 
Hit  the  weak  places  of  the  Service  crew. 
Ah,  some  I  know,  with  forest  passion  stirred, 
Too  deep  for  verse  or  any  human  word. 

Followeth  the  poem,  the  first  of  this  symposium, 
which  came  to  a  lonely  Supervisor's  cabin. 

THE  SUPING  SUPERVISOR 

The  Supervisor  supes  around, 
He  supes  'most  every  day. 
He  supes  around  the  office 
And  then  he  draws  his  pay. 
He  writes  the  rangers,  "  Please  do  this, 
Please  do  it  very  soon ; 
And  how  far  is  it  here  to  there? 
And  how  far  to  the  moon  ? 
And  please  report  on  Bill  Smith's  claim, 
And  build  a  barn,  and  see 
What  is  the  matter  with  the  'phone, 
And  report  this  back  to  me. 
168 


The  Forest  Ranger 


And  don't  forget  to  send  this  in, 

And  carefully  prepare 

A  statement  of  your  horse's  oats 

And  how  he  combs  his  hair. 

And  it  is  most  important 

That  you  investigate 

The  grazing  out  on  Hell  Creek 

And  how  much  grass  it  ate. 

And  promptly  on  the  4ist, 

A  letter  should  be  sent 

To  tell  me  how  much  snow  there  is 

And  which  way  it  has  went. 

Please  don't  neglect  to  satisfy 

All  persons  who  apply, 

And  tell  them  "  Thank  you  very  much !  " 

When  you  are  sure  they  lie. 

I  hope  I  need  not  here  repeat 

That  Regulation  9 

Requires  all  rangers  to  wear  clothes 

And  have  their  badges  shine. 

This  time  about  come  twenty  years 

I  am  instructed  that 

Provided  it  is  possible 

All  men  must  keep  a  cat." 

The  Super  supes  in  daytime, 

The  Super  supes  at  night. 

The  Super  supes,  and  supes  and  supes, 

Because  it  is  his  right. 

He  has  a  dreamy  suping  time 

With  no  cares  of  expense. 

He  wouldn't  be  a  Super 

If  he  had  a  bit  of  sense! 

*••*•• 

169 


The  Forest  Ranger 


We  druv  out  Basco  sheep  a  few ; 
We  cut  old  trails,  an'  used  'em,  too. 

This  old-time  ranger,  worn  and  gray, 
Must  have  his  grumble  —  let  it  slide ! 

Before  him  his  Great  Forest  Way 
Still  climbs  up  to  the  Last  Divide  — 

There  stops  —  for  him !     Another  takes 
His  axe,  and  a  new  record  makes. 


THE  WOMAN  SIDE 

Of  all  the  places  where  I've  lived 
And  different  work  I've  done, 

I'd  rather  be  a  ranger's  wife, — 
Because  it's  lots  of  fun. 

Of  course  I'm  not  talking  of  the  work; 

I'm  going  to  let  that  slide. 
It's  of  the  good  times  that  I  speak; 

It's  just  the  woman's  side. 

The  people  are  so  sociable, 
They  want  you  just  to  feel 

That  you're  the  same  as  one  of  them. 
Their  welcome  is  so  real ! 

And  then  there's  something  that  binds 
And  makes  us  love  each  other. 

It's  something  that  we  can't  explain ; 
It's  like  the  love  of  mother. 
172 


The  Forest  Ranger 


And  then  you  have  your  saddle  horse, 

And  lots  of  time  for  spins 
Down  to  the  post-office  for  the  mail, 

Or  up  to  Mrs.  Shinn's. 

And  then  there's  summer  evenings 

Of  which  we  never  tire. 
We  roll  great  logs  of  pitch  together 

And  have  a  big  bon-fire. 

We  sit  and  tell  good  stories, 
And  gaze  at  the  tall  pine  trees ; 

We  wonder  at  their  beauty, 

And  the  soft,  cool,  summer  breeze 

Comes  floating  down  the  meadow 

That  is  so  green  and  fair, 
And  filled  with  rich  wild  flowers 

That  grow  so  gorgeous  there. 

But  then  there's  winter  evenings 

When  frost  and  fallen  snow 
Stay  piled  upon  the  hillsides 

And  in  the  valleys,  too. 

It's  then  we  have  our  parties, 

We  go,  and  have  such  fun 
Before  one  good  time's  ended 

There's  something  else  begun. 

—  By  a  Ranger's  Wife 

173 


The  Forest  Ranger 


THE  LAST  WORD 

There  comes  a  breath  as  of  storm  and  flame 
Unshapen,  speechless,  not  writ  with  pen, — 
The  sound  of  a  Nation  seizing  the  fact 
Of  rangers,  and  supers  and  district  men 
All  welded  together  in  one  firm  pact 
To  Tackle  the  Issues  and  Play  the  Game. 

At  last  the  Harvest  our  years  have  sown, 
At  last  the  ending  of  ancient  wrong, 

As  the  People  take  the  People's  Own 
With  civic  conscience  aroused  and  strong. 

The  finer  types  of  men  with  a  soul  — 
Pinchots  and  Lincolns  —  in  full  control, 

Till,  once  more  leading  the  human  race, 

The  Old-time  REPUBLIC  takes  its  place. 


174 


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APR  29  1934 

:  TT: 

!U!         K     i^fiU 

!           O     ylj^l 

tftM    2  1935 

^^IftB 

JW     * 

)t 

/ 
/ 

/-v                                     / 

, 

'}   '    '       7|\ 

; 

\ 

OCT   9     1998 

LD  21-100m-7,'33 

YB  76127 


398917 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


